Haunted
by harleybanks
Summary: "Stay… away… from me…" Bubbles wheezed, holding back a great sob. He licked his lips, a forked-tongue slithering past his teeth. He chuckled, a strange chord reverberating in his throat. "Never…" Sequel to "30 Days" and "Unbridled."
1. Prologue :: Haunted

**Prologue**

She lay, staring up at the sky far above her. The sun shone bright like a coin glittering in a fountain of pale blue. Cotton candy clouds circled around the sun, softly dissolving the blinding light. A gentle breeze caressed her face, the smell of sweet honey and musty wildflowers tickling her nose. With a quick laugh, she licked her lips, tasting those very smells. She sat up. Fields of the greenest grass rolled down the horizon, spots of shadowy trees and vibrant flower patches barely blemishing the landscape. She heard a splash. Right next to her, a minnow swam in a glittering pond. Giggling, she dipped her hand into the cool water, and the tiny fish weaved between her fingers. The smooth scales glided against her skin; she giggled again.

She noticed a face smiling up at her. Her baby blue eyes gazed back at her, admiring the golden locks spiraling around her round face. She grinned, and another warm breeze wafted past her. She twirled a single curl around her finger. Then, her finger trailed down her neck and down to her breast, stopping at the neckline of… a dress? She immediately hovered to her feet and stared into the pond. Her hands slid down the bodice of a simple, yet beautiful white gown, the skirts gracefully flowing just above her toes.

She laughed. How could she have forgotten? A small ripple in the pond next to her reflection wavered into the outline of young man. He blinked, his colors exploding in the outlines. The man nervously straightened his navy blue tie, and then ran his fingers through his shaggy, sandy-blonde hair. The man caught sight of the young woman next to him. A smile broke on his face. The young woman smiled back.

"Soon," Bubbles whispered. She reached her hand out, her reflection disappearing into the pond as the young man's reflection turned to the real Bubbles. His eyelids drooped as he reached out at her. Bubbles touched the surface of the pond, almost feeling the man's hand. Then, he disappeared with another series of ripples, his colors fading into the mist. But Bubbles couldn't stop smiling. She closed her eyes, losing herself in a reverie so pleasant, she could feel the heat around her fingertips.

"_My, do you look beautiful…"_

Bubbles' heart stopped. The contemptuous voice, like a song of dissonant chords, echoed past her ears. Her smile slipped away as she tried to will her heart to beat. It trembled terrified in her chest. But, without opening her eyes, she pursed her lips into an unbreakable scowl. She took a long, deep breath.

"Go away," she said strongly.

"_But it's just so… _nice_ here… So warm and… disgusting."_

"You don't scare me," Bubbles said. "Go."

"_Hmmm… No, I think I like it here," _the voice droned. "_It just needs a few… homey touches, don't you think?"_

Bubbles opened her eyes. She gasped. The once-blue sky burst into flames, the clouds wisping into smoke, the sun glowing with stark radiation. The fields shriveled into nothing but ash, leaving a thick stench of brimstone burning Bubbles' nostrils. Her eyes furrowed, holding back her furious thoughts.

"_Oh no! Look what you're doing to your dress!" _

Bubbles looked down at her dress, soiled with dirt. She jumped into the air, splashing the water from the pond all over. She tried to wipe the dirt off her dress, only to smear mud and some red liquid across the fabric. She whimpered and glanced back at the pond. Blood boiled over the rocks, steaming with a sickening metallic odor. A single tiny skeleton floated to the surface. Bubbles choked back a cry.

"You don't scare me!" Bubbles shouted. "Stop it! Go away!"

_"Oh, I don't think so,"_ the voice hissed.

Bubbles hands shot to her face, shielding her eyes from the travesty before her. A cold wind smacked her in the back, and she stumbled to her knees. She shivered, both from the cold and the fear. She tried to keep the tears from pouring from her eyes. Another blast of wind broke her. She sobbed.

"GO!" she roared. "GO AWAY!"

The voice laughed, starting at an ear-shattering chuckle and rumbling into a horrific cackle.

"I SAID GO!" Bubbles wept. "GO! GO!"

Suddenly, a presence whooshed behind her. Two very cold, very sharp points ever so lightly touched her bare back. Bubbles trembled, chills icing through her skin. She sobbed again. The points glided up her back to her shoulders. Bubbles gasped once more.

"Go…" she whispered weakly.

The voice hissed into her ear, a snake's tongue slithering in her ear.

"_Bubbles…"_

"No…" Bubbles whimpered.

"_Bubbles…"_

"No!"

"_Buuuuuuubbleeeeees…"_

"I SAID—"

"BUBBLES!"

Bubbles opened her eyes. The voice was gone, along with the horrible fields of ash and the bloody pond. Instead of the fiery red sky, a whole-heartedly pleasant sunlight shimmered through the blinds of her light pink bedroom. She quickly looked around the room, taking in the familiar vanity table, army of stuffed animals in the corner, and pile of dirty clothes near the door. Two faces stared at her, one with rosy pink eyes and one with lime green, both with similar worried expressions.

"It's time to get up now," Blossom said with a comforting smile.

"Yeah," Buttercup said with a smirk. "_Someone's_ gotta get married today!"


	2. Chapter 1  :: White Wedding

**Chapter 1 – White Wedding**

"This is Linda Grey, live in Townsville Park, at the wedding of our own sunny-haired Powerpuff Bubbles and her super-powered beau Boomer! Today the two will say 'I do' this afternoon, and as you can see behind me, the citizens of Townsville are already lining up, getting the best seats for the big event—"

Cheers exploded as the citizens of Townsville tried to shove their way into the wedding. White and baby-blue balloons lined a streamer barrier, heavily guarded by the local police. A barrage of eager newscasters and paparazzi flashed their cameras, trying to get a good view of the small stage several yards beyond the barrier. A single arch in the center was covered in the most beautiful arrangement of wildflowers the local florists could create. Two columns of chairs faced the stage, a humble twenty-five seats in each section. Surrounding the arena was a series of connecting white tents, each bustling with activity hidden from the prying eyes of the public. In one of those tents, Blossom fussed with the bushel of blonde curls that was Bubbles' hair.

"Okay, okay, I think this'll work just… like… this!" Blossom laughed triumphantly, securing the last bit of veil to her sister's hair. Bubbles stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror before her, smiling bemusedly at Blossom.

"You know, it looked just fine ten minutes ago," Buttercup snickered in the corner, sneering at her reflection in her own mirror and picking at some plaque on her teeth.

"That's because you have no sense of fashion or how each little piece correlates and compliments each and every thing else," Blossom said simply, straightening a non-existent crease in her dress. Then, she smiled at Buttercup. "But we love you anyway."

"Lies," Buttercup spat. She sniffled and headed to the exit. "But whatever. Where's my kid? BRIDIE!"

"I'm here, Mom!" a tiny voice squeaked somewhere outside. Buttercup zipped out, leaving Blossom and Bubbles alone to finish primping. Blossom headed to Buttercup's vacant mirror and checked her appearance. She ran her fingers through her long red hair, the ends gliding past her lower back.

"So I look okay?" Bubbles asked, her voice a little tense. Blossom threw her a sweet smile.

"Bubbles, you've never looked better."

This much was true – though she wore the same dress from her harrowing dream this morning, Bubbles heart simply skipped every time she caught her reflection. The white gown draped around her tiny frame with grace, the skirts hovering above her glittery glass heels. Her hair was done up in large, bountiful curls, nestled just past her shoulders and pinned back out of her face. The veil lay softly on her head, ready to be pulled forward right before her grand entrance. This was the day she had been waiting for only six weeks. Only seven months. Only a lifetime.

Bubbles turned to Blossom, who was busy brushing her hair for the hundredth time that morning. Blossom looked quite beautiful herself, wearing the strapless, pastel yellow bridesmaid dress with the pink sash (that she had picked out, of course). Sweeping just past her knees, Blossom was the epitome of eloquence and beauty, possibly even outshining the bride today. Then again, Bubbles thought to herself, there was at least one person who wouldn't even notice her sister today. She grinned.

At that moment, Buttercup bounded into the tent, a tiny version of herself floating in the air behind her. Buttercup grabbed a duffel bag off the ground and tore into it, searching for something. After a few seconds, she pulled out a teal Nintendo DS and handed it to her daughter Bridie.

"Now sit and play and stop bothering the guys," she said, nudging Bridie to a chair in the corner. Bridie, wearing a smaller, poofier version of the bridesmaid dress with a turquoise sash, stuck her tongue out at Buttercup. Buttercup made a face back and then skipped next to Blossom in front of the mirror.

"So, did I mention how much I hate this dress?" Buttercup told Blossom, fingering the lime green sash on her own dress. Blossom rolled her eyes.

"About a million times," Blossom said exasperated. "But you look great, now hush!" Buttercup frowned.

"But I look like such a… such a…"

"Girl," Bridie finished with a squeak, her eyes glued to her Pokémon game.

"Exactly," Buttercup agreed, making another disgusted face. She started messing with the bust of her dress. "I swear, I feel like I'm gonna pop out of this thing. Damn!"

"That would be too good," a voice rumbled from the entrance. Both Blossom and Buttercup's heads snapped to the side to see two dark green eyes peeking through the curtain.

"You shit," Buttercup growled.

"Can I come in?" Butch asked, pulling the curtain aside and entering. Blossom started.

"Hey, this is the bride's tent, sir, and you can't come in without permission!"

"Hey, I knew you were all dressed, I just wanted to – hello!" Butch turned to Bubbles, his eyebrows high. He grinned. "Aw, shit, I had no idea angels actually existed."

"Oh, shut up!" Bubbles giggled, turning away, blushing. Buttercup snorted and smacked Butch on the arm.

"You're so fucking cute, now GO!" Buttercup yelled, bodily pushing Butch out of the tent and zipping it shut behind him.

"I was sent here to check on you guys anyway!" Butch said from the other side of the curtain. "It's almost time."

"We're fine," Blossom answered for everyone. "And we know. We'll see you in a little bit."

Butch made an indistinguishable noise, and they heard him zoom off, the tent glowing forest green for a split second. Buttercup twisted the single half of a handcuff on her left wrist, smirking.

"Idiot," she said to herself.

"He's right, though," Blossom announced, pulling her hair back and tying it up with her signature red ribbon. She turned to her sisters. "It is almost time. How are you feeling, Bubbles?"

"I feel just fine," Bubbles replied with a quick nod. Blossom glanced at Bridie and Buttercup.

"Alright, then I think we should start rounding everyone up and getting ready," Blossom grabbed her cell phone off the nearby lawn chair and checked the time. Her eyebrows flashed. "Thirty minutes."

"Well, let's go then," Buttercup sighed. "Time to alert the horde. Bridie!"

"Okay," Bridie grumbled, hovering off her chair, eyes still glued to her game. Buttercup immediately snatched the gadget out of Bridie's hands and smacked it closed. Bridie cried out in protest.

"You can play after your job. Keep it in your flower basket," Buttercup said. Bridie pursed her lips and begrudgingly unzipped the tent and floated out. Buttercup gave a last nod to Bubbles and followed her daughter out. Blossom took one last look in the mirror, and then turned to Bubbles.

"You ready?"

"…yes."

"We'll call you when it's time," Blossom said. She took a step out of the tent. Suddenly, she stopped. She turned back to Bubbles with a warm smile. "You look so beautiful, Bubbles."

Bubbles beamed. "Thank you, Blossom."

With that, Blossom left, zipping the tent up behind her.

Bubbles took a seat, staring at her reflection. This was it, wasn't it? She sighed, feeling a sudden flash of nerves strike beneath her skin. This was it. After only six weeks of planning, this was it. March 20, 2011. The first day of spring. The first day of the rest of her life.

Oh, what was she nervous about? As her wise, intelligent sister Buttercup said: "It was about damn time!" After the big ordeal with the kidnapping of Bridie and all the other surrounding events back in August, it was only natural that she and Boomer would be together. And after several very nice months of dating, Valentine's Day was the big moment. And when that happened, she figured: why wait? Without any other significant date, they chose the first day of spring for the big day. And then as soon as the press found out…

Okay, maybe it was kind of a big deal.

Bubbles bit her lip. _Here comes the old case of cold feet, huh?_Bubbles stood up, slipping out of her heels. She hovered to the other side of the tent, then back. She did it again. She paced, back and forth, rubbing her arms. A small breeze drifted through the tent, making Bubbles shiver. She hugged herself tightly. _Calm down, this is normal_, she thought to herself. _Calm. Calm. Calm…_She stopped in front of the mirror. She drifted back into her heels and smoothed out her dress. She smiled at her reflection.

"It's okay," she whispered. "It's okay. I'm okay! I'm okay… right?"

A hiss slithered past her ear. Bubbles gasped.

"_Right…"_

* * *

><p>"Brick!" Boomer shrieked, spinning around and staring helplessly at his brother. Brick hovered in the corner of their tent, his eyes plastered on the tiny touchscreen phone in his palm. He grunted in acknowledgement.<p>

"The rings! Where are the rings? Oh, my god, the rings…" Boomer darted around the tent, his dark blue streak flashing to and fro. Brick snorted and idly poked at his phone. Boomer stopped in mid-air. He huffed.

"BRICK!"

"Pockets, Boomer," Brick said, not even bothering to look up. "Check your pockets."

Boomer drifted down to the grass and patted the pockets of his pressed black pants. Then he slipped his hand in the breast pocket of his equally pressed white dress shirt. He sighed – two metal bands slipped around his forefinger. He pulled them out, the golden rings glinting in the dull sunlight. He collapsed with a thud into a nearby lawn chair.

"Dumbass," Brick muttered.

"Shut up," Boomer said softly. He gazed at the rings, his other hand massaging the tendons on his neck. He took a long, slow breath, and then turned up to face his reflection in the floor-length mirror in front of him. He exhaled. His shaggy, dirty-blonde hair fluttered, tickling his eyebrows and the mid-part of his ears. Suddenly, a small smile broke on his face. Boomer looked ridiculous – his dressy attire, complete with navy blue tie, the unmanageable shag, the look of unadulterated fear in his eyes… Boy, what a _great-looking_groom he was today.

Boomer winced. Groom. Bride. Bubbles. Wedding.

"Brick!" Boomer cried, leaping out of his chair and almost dropping the rings in his hand. Brick rolled his eyes, and then glared at Boomer, his fiery red eyes staring lasers.

"Where's Butch?" Boomer demanded. After a quick glance, he slipped the rings back into his breast pocket and turned back to Brick. He groaned. Brick made a shuddering sigh and buried his face in his hand. Then he ran his hand over his bright red, perfectly-gelled coif.

"He went to run some errands," he explained very… slowly. "He'll be back very soon. So you should just sit down and chill – the fuck – out."

"I can't!" Boomer moaned, dropping his shoulders. "He needs to be here. Where did he go? Where the hell could he be besides _heeeeere_!"

"Getting your ring-bearer!"

Right on cue, Butch zipped into the tent, a small creature wriggling madly in his arms. The creature was bound with an unreasonable amount of rope, locks of black fur poking between the cracks. Butch tossed it on the ground, and Boomer made a strangled noise. The creature, a chimp with a lime green face, furious salmon pink eyes, and a comically large striped helmet, glared up at the Boys. Mojo Jojo grumbled something behind a white bandanna tied around his mouth. From the corner, Brick sidled over, a nasty sneer on his face.

"Right on time," he said, patting Butch once on the shoulder before kneeling down in front of Mojo. "Hiya, Pops!"

Mojo shouted something indistinctly.

"Brick!" Boomer chuckled nervously. "What the—"

"How are you, Pops?" Brick asked, ignoring his brother. "You seem pretty well, actually. Sorry we haven't really been in touch. It's been, I don't know, kinda busy."

Butch snickered behind him as Boomer watched in disbelief. Mojo sniffled.

"Anyways, in case you didn't know – which is insane, considering it's all over the news – Boomer here—" Brick stood up and grabbed Boomer, wrapping an arm around him in an affectionate but mostly painful headlock. "—is getting married."

Mojo made a sickeningly low noise.

"Unfortunately," Brick continued, loosening his grip on Boomer. "Due to the lack of small children in our lives, we weren't able to find a good ring-bearer. So, as a kind gesture to my wonderful little betrothed brother here, I've decided to recruit you."

At that, Mojo's eyes widened and he struggled wildly in his bindings. Butch had to bite his knuckles to contain himself. Boomer glanced at Brick, unsure of how to feel.

"Hey, I figured you'd want some part of your little boy's special day!" Brick said, the sarcasm simply pouring off his lips. "And I know it's last minute, but don't worry! Butch and I will personally make sure you know what to do, and we even managed to get one of the Girls to help."

Mojo gulped.

"All you have to do is play along and wear this little thing I got you." Brick suddenly presented a child's tuxedo from out of nowhere. Mojo whimpered.

"Sound like a plan?"

Mojo replied with a series of muffled insults and objections.

"Great!" Brick exclaimed. "We'll get you dressed and ready to go and I'll see you at the ceremony in a few. Great to see you again, Dad!"

With that, Butch grabbed Mojo by the ropes and tossed him over his shoulder. Butch chuckled madly to himself.

"Oh, Dad!" Butch said suddenly. "Have you met your _granddaughter_ yet? She is the spittin' image of her mother."

The cry of rage was unmistakable as Butch carried their monkey father out of the tent. When the echoing fury faded, Boomer turned to Brick. He blinked, his eyes wide and the left corner of his mouth frozen. Brick reached into his pocket and pulled out a half-smoked cigar. He nodded at his brother.

"Congratulations, Boomer," he said. He popped the cigar into his mouth. "You're welcome."

* * *

><p>The soft strum of an amplified acoustic guitar echoed across the field. The citizens behind the barriers nestled into their lawn chairs or onto their spread-out picnic blankets, every one of them pulling out a pair of binoculars. Several cameras flashed, and Linda Grey, along with the only film crew allowed into the ceremony, waited for the camera's red light to blink on before smiling and whispering eagerly into her microphone.<p>

"We're back at the Powerpuff-Rowdyruff wedding, and those first few chords you're hearing means the ceremony is now starting."

Most of the white seats were filled by the very carefully chosen guests, including the bouncing-in-his-seat Mayor, his softly snoring wife, a snappily-dressed Ms. Bellum, a salt-and-pepper-haired Ms. Keane, the four members of the band (a seat empty for their guitarist currently on stage), the Chief of Police, and various old friends and classmates. Originally, Bubbles did want to allow the whole city to attend the ceremony ("the more the merrier!"), but Blossom _insisted_ ("ARE YOU MAD?") that a smaller crowd would be easier to manage for both the ceremony and the reception. It was Professor's quiet suggestion that compromised both daughters' ideas with a small ceremony, but in a large space and with one – only one – televised broadcast. Boomer, no surprise, was more than happy with the small ceremony as he stumbled on his way out of the tents and stood at the front of the center aisle.

All the guests turned in their seats to face him, the film crew zooming in on his pallid face. Boomer resisted the urge to claw at his neck and – somehow – forced a smile on his face. Then, he felt a small jab at his side. He jumped – literally – into the air. Brick hovered behind him next to Blossom, smirking. Blossom gave him a big smile and a short nod. Butch and Buttercup were no help, simultaneously sticking their fingers to their heads and pretending to shoot themselves. Boomer sighed, drifted back to the ground, and glided to the stage alone.

The procession started. Brick and Blossom glided down the aisle, heads held high, and a look of cool professionalism on their faces. A few beats later, Butch and Buttercup floated on down, Butch making a goofy face and Buttercup very formally flipping the camera off (a dull roar of laughter erupted from the citizens far off). Then – everyone but Brick, Butch, and Buttercup did a double-take – a very surly-looking Mojo Jojo sulked down the aisle, holding the pillow high in front of his face to cover the vicious muttering under his breath. He took his dear, sweet time, his eyes staring daggers at the rest of the wedding party. Once he reached the stage, he was immediately thrust to the side by Buttercup. Brick and Butch both gave him a daring look, and Mojo snorted and continued to grumble to himself. Finally, Bridie zipped down the aisle, flower petals bursting into the air as she passed. She reached the stage, tossed her basket aside and hurried back to her game. Blossom gave Bridie a nasty look, to which Buttercup shrugged and grinned.

The guitarist then seamlessly made his way into the first few chords of the bride's march. Inside the tent, Bubbles took a deep, shuddering breath, her veil waving softly. A warm hand wrapped around hers. She looked up and smiled. The Professor, his dark eyes watery and his face beyond bliss, grinned back at her. Without a second thought, he pulled the curtain aside and led his daughter outside.

There was an audible buzz of excitement from the crowd as Bubbles and the Professor turned to the aisle and paused. Cameras flashed, the guests shuffled in their seats to get a better look. Bubbles cast her eyes down, knowing well that the moment she looked up, she was just going to die. The Professor squeezed her trembling hand.

"Ready?" he asked.

Bubbles took another deep breath. She paused. Then, she looked up and met eyes with Boomer. His eyebrows flashed, and he grabbed Brick to steady himself. Brick quickly swiped him off and Boomer floated onto his toes. Finally, he smiled, the biggest, happiest smile anyone had ever seen on his face

That was it.

Bubbles broke into a grin, and the Professor slowly led her down to the stage to be married.


	3. Chapter 2 :: I'm Yours

**Chapter 2 – I'm Yours**

"To Bubbles and Boomer!" a rather wobbly citizen shouted, raising a glass high. All the guests at the reception – that is, the entirety of Townsville – raised their glasses and toasted the happy couple. From the middle of the long table on the stage that had just been transformed into a small separate area, Bubbles and Boomer glanced at each other and smiled.

A gentle breeze sent the smell of hundreds of dishes wafting through the air, and an upbeat love song from the band several yards away blended with the cheerful voices of the party. The other part of that compromise the Professor suggested included that all of Townsville was welcome to the reception, provided it was potluck, they cleaned up after themselves, and a decent-sized area around the stage was blocked off to allow the wedding party some breathing room. Sure enough, the citizens complied, and just about everyone the Powerpuff Girls knew had shown up to give their blessing. A roped-off line had formed in front of the table, with dozens of guests ready to deliver their best wishes or gifts. An hour into the reception, the gift table was already towering with presents, ranging in size and eloquence, wrapped and unwrapped. Bubbles and Boomer even graciously listened to an old hobo wish them a happy future and give them an empty can of baked beans. After a moment, the hobo hobbled away, and Bubbles and Boomer finally took a breath of clean air. Boomer sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Bubbles glanced at him, smiling.

"Tired already?" she asked, poking him in the side. He jumped and leaned forward, giving her the best wide-awake look he could muster.

"I am totally awake. What are you talking about?" Boomer demanded, a small smirk on his face. Bubbles gave him a knowing look. Boomer caved.

"Okay, I'm kind of exhausted," he grunted.

"Kind of," Bubbles repeated. She gestured for the next guest to come up, and Boomed slowly leaned against her, drooping his head on her shoulder. A girl with long brown hair and one of the sweetest smiles ever bounced over to the table. Bubbles almost didn't recognize her before...

"OhmiGod, ROBIN!" Bubbles leapt out of her seat, almost knocking Boomer out of his, and wrapping her arms around her old friend. Robin Snyder giggled a "Hello" as she hugged back. Bubbles pulled away and gazed at her. "Oh my God, where have you _been?_"

"Around," Robin said simply, shrugging her shoulders. "Just being all grown up now."

"Oh my God, I know," Bubbles agreed, scoffing. "It's crazy. Oh! This is—"

"Oh my God, Robin," Boomer whispered, staring at Robin with a confused looked.

"—Boomer," Bubbles finished, looking at Robin and then back at Boomer. Robin gave Boomer a small nod.

"Eh, Townsville's kind of a small world," Robin said quietly.

"Kind of," Boomer repeated.

"Well," Robin started, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I just wanted to say 'hi,' and 'congrats.' Y'know, the whole... thing..."

"Thank you, Robin," Bubbles said sweetly, grasping Robin's hand.

"Yeah," Boomer said, gripping his tie. "Thanks."

"I'm happy for you guys," Robin said, beaming directly at Boomer. "You deserve it."

"Thanks," Bubbles gushed. Boomer looked at Robin, his eyes scanning her face for... something. After a moment, he smiled warmly back at her.

"Yeah, thank you, Robin."

"Alright, well," Robin skipped in her spot. "I'll see you guys! Congrats!"

"See ya!" Bubbles chirped as Boomer waved to her. Robin gave one last nod and bounced away. Bubbles stared at Boomer, who stared wistfully at Robin.

"How do you know her?" Bubbles asked, more curious than anything.

"We... um..." Boomer mumbled.

"Dated," Bubbles guessed.

"...Yeah," Boomer confirmed, carefully turning back to her. Bubbles looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed in mock fury.

"I hate you, and I'm so jealous that you dated my best friend from school," she growled, the smile failing miserably to stay off her face. Boomer rolled his eyes and relaxed.

"Sorry," he chuckled. "It's just been awhile. She dumped me after you guys graduated. College..."

"So _you're_ the sweet guy she was dating!" Bubbles exclaimed, looking away in awe. "She would never tell me who you were or how she met you or anything. She would just... gush."

"Really?" Boomer laughed, sneaking a peek back at Robin. He smiled to himself. "Well, that's... that's good to hear."

"She wasn't kidding," Bubbles said. Boomer turned back to her, and she stared at him from the corner of her eye. They grinned.

"Hello, hello!"

Bubbles and Boomer jumped and faced the next guest: a very well-dressed young woman with long strawberry-blonde hair, stark green eyes behind small, square, name-brand glasses, and a pen tucked behind her ear. One hand held a notepad, and the other was thrust into Bubbles' face.

"Nancy Fox, Townsville Today," she introduced herself, flashing a perfect, camera-ready smile. "I'm here to offer my congratulations, as well as ask a few questions of Townsville's newest, happiest super-couple."

"Hi?" Bubbles said, carefully shaking Nancy's manicured hand. Boomer just stared at the woman, mildly confused.

"So tell me," Nancy started, grabbing her pen and clicking it several times before holding it over her notepad. "How'd ya meet, how long have you been together, and how'd he pop the question?"

"Uhhh," Boomer turned to Bubbles, and the two shared matching confused looks. Bubbles turned back and responded quickly.

"He tried to kill me and my sisters, it's been about seven months, and he screamed at me in the middle of the street on Valentine's Day during a night downtown."

"He... tried to kill you," Nancy said slowly, underlining it on her notepad.

"Eh—Hey! I was made to!" Boomer shouted, sitting up in his seat. Bubbles looked at him, her eyes wide. Boomer made a choking noise.

"W-well, that was then. Before we had to get together and save the world and save our niece and... stuff," he finished lamely.

"Also, I was being kind of silly and I wouldn't stop talking when he asked me to marry him," Bubbles added gently. "He took me out and did the whole thing – got me flowers and candy, took me to dinner, took me ice skating, and then I was so excited about... something, that when he finally worked up the courage to ask me, I wouldn't shut up. So he eventually had to – you know – yell at me... to marry him..."

Bubbles gazed at him during the whole recollection, and Boomer could feel the color flushing to his cheeks. He smiled sheepishly and looked down at the suddenly wonderful-looking tablecloth.

"Shouting his love from the street-tops," Nancy said, trying out a line from her soon-to-be-written article. "Beautiful."

"It was," Bubbles agreed, her hand magically finding Boomer's and gripping it tight. The color from his face faded immediately and a warmth burned in his chest. He grinned.

"Well, thanks, kids!" Nancy said, though Bubbles momentarily considered that the woman couldn't have been more than a few years older than her. Nancy saluted with her pen and flashed another dazzling smile. "Have a happy marriage."

"Plan on it," Boomer replied, smacking his lips. Bubbles stifled a laugh and waved Nancy good-bye.

A few seats away, Blossom nursed a small glass of wine, enjoying a moment of relative quiet away from everyone else. That was, until Butch and Buttercup, both carrying their third plate of chicken wings, stumbled into the seats on her right.

"I'm telling you," Buttercup said through a mouthful of golden, crispy skin. "I am so glad we didn't do the whole wedding thing. Signing some papers and a weekend downtown – best idea ever."

"For real," Butch agreed, sucking the meat off the bone. "'Cept check out that haul." He nodded at the mountain of presents. Buttercup gazed at the mountain for a moment.

"Oh, well," Buttercup said with a shrug. She glanced at Blossom and frowned. "What's up, leader girl?"

"I'm done," Blossom replied. "No more planning, no more stressing; I can finally relax."

"Yeah," Buttercup scoffed. "Until you remember your fundraising thing."

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Blossom groaned, burying her face in her arms.

"Hey, you wanna be mayor," Buttercup mentioned simply, nibbling on her fifth wing.

It was true – the Mayor of Townsville was retiring (finally), and at the urge of countless citizens as well as her family, Blossom was in the running. At the moment, she was running unopposed, but that didn't stop Blossom from the whole nine yards: campaigns, speeches, fundraisers, rallies, all of it. Unfortunately for her, though, she had been so busy planning Bubbles' fairly last-minute wedding that she pretty much forgot her fundraiser on Monday. Nonetheless, she lifted her head off the table and quickly regained her composure.

"I did _not_ forget," she announced. "It just wasn't at the forefront of my mind, and I'm going to sit here and enjoy the peace I have right now."

"Suit yourself," Buttercup chuckled. She turned to Butch, who was licking barbeque sauce off his plate. Buttercup rolled her eyes and grabbed him by his forest green tie.

"Come on," she said, dragging him out of his seat. "I wanna party."

"'Hokay!" Butch choked, dropping his plate and zipping along behind Buttercup.

Blossom watched them, releasing a tiny sigh. Her mind immediately wandered to the welcoming speech she was going to use for Monday's event. She rehearsed it for the millionth time, whispering the words to herself, while mindlessly swirling the wine in her glass. She stared ahead at the invisible audience on the grassy knoll before, so focused that she didn't sense the tall figure hovering close behind her.

"And as your Mayor, I will not just plant my lips on the tender heads of the next generation," Blossom whispered grandly, planting her glass down firmly. "I will—"

"How about we get out of here and you plant your lips in better places?"

Blossom leapt up, smashing the glass on the table. She whirled around and came face to face with, of course, Brick. He gazed at the wine dripping off the table, and then back into Blossom's eyes. He smirked.

"Or not."

"Brick!" Blossom shrieked, grabbing a dozen napkins and hurriedly mopping up the spill. "You know better than to sneak up on me like that." She slapped the soggy napkins over the broken glass and turned back to Brick. She lowered her voice. "Especially in public."

"Hey, I suggested we get out of here," Brick said with a shrug, pulling out his half-smoked cigar.

"That is not an option right now, Brick," Blossom hissed, scooping up the mess and piling it onto her used paper plate. She grabbed a few more napkins and did one last wipe on the table. She threw the napkins into the pile, and then looked at Brick. He gave her a surly look. Blossom sniffed.

"Maybe later," she said quietly. "Way later."

"Yeah, sure," Brick agreed bitterly, watching Blossom carefully run her hand over her seat before nestling back in. He turned away, pulling out a pack of matches and ripping two out. Blossom scoffed.

"Don't be like that," she said. Brick snorted, popping the cigar in his mouth and lighting it in one swift move. Blossom's nose twitched at the smell. A memory flashed before her, invading her thoughts. She closed her eyes, trying hard not to relive the last time she saw Brick. The hotel room lit by a single golden lamp, the satin blankets slipping past her skin, the strong, sweet scent of smoke coupled with a tangy taste of sweat as she buried her face into the nape of his neck. A low groan erupted from his throat. Blossom released a shaky sigh, and opened her eyes. It took her a few seconds to realize that Brick was watching her, a small grin on his face. Blossom frowned.

"Soon," she grunted. Brick nodded.

"Blossom Utonium!"

Blossom looked up at Nancy, and all the more entertaining thoughts slipped from her brain to be replaced with surprisingly violent ones. They didn't need introductions, but Nancy flashed that winning smile anyway.

"Just the super-woman I was looking for," Nancy cooed, brandishing her pen at Blossom. Then, her intrusive green eyes peered up at Brick. "And with Rowdyruff Boy Brick, also known as 'Fratellino' of the Guerelli Family."

"Looks like someone reads the Trib, huh?" Brick said coolly. Nancy thrust her hand out to him. He simply blew a puff of smoke at her nails. She drew her hand back to her notepad and she chuckled.

"Hm, well, I'm so glad I got the two of you here," Nancy started, not remotely insulted at the rejection. "I actually had a few questions for both of you."

"We're happy for our siblings and we wish them the best," Brick said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You can go now."

"Well, thank you, I'll be sure to add that," Nancy said quickly. "But what everyone is really dying to know: are you two seeing each other?"

"Excuse me?" Blossom gasped, ash falling down from Brick's cigar.

"Are you two seeing each other?" Nancy repeated. "Because you know, a candidate in the mayoral election seeing an alleged mobster isn't exactly—"

"What's it to you?" Brick asked, tucking the cigar between his lips. Nancy shrugged her shoulders and started.

"Well, there are rumors, if you didn't know, and I myself have—"

"Ms. Fox," Blossom started. "I can assure you, there is nothing more than a mere acquaintanceship between Brick and I, and—"

"She's lying," Brick said quickly. Blossom's eye widened.

"Oh?" Nancy chirped. Blossom turned to Brick, the lasers warming up behind her eyes.

"You know politicians," Brick laughed. Then, he grabbed Blossom's hand and thrust her into his arms. He gripped her tight as she struggled against him. "But seriously, we've been seeing each other for years, we just can't get enough of each other!"

"Brick!" Blossom screeched into his shirt.

"Yeah, we love each other so much," Brick went on, smashing Blossom into his chest with one hand and smoking his cigar with the other. "She is apple of my eye, and I'm the song in her heart. That's why she's trying to kill me right now for telling you." He let Blossom go, and she stumbled backwards a few feet into the air, staring eyebeams at him.

"See the loving look in her eyes," Brick said, gesturing at Blossom.

"I get it," Nancy said with a smile, clicking her pen a few times.

"There's nothing going on between us," Blossom snapped. "I just have the misfortune of having him as my brother-in-law. I can assure you he has no influence at all, _whatsoever_, on my life or my campaign."

"Alright, thank you," Nancy said, snapping her notepad shut. "You two enjoy the party."

With that, Nancy turned on her heel and disappeared into the rest of party. When Blossom lost sight of her, she turned back to Brick.

"You vile, disgusting, insignificant excuse of a being!" she seethed.

"You love me," Brick replied, taking one last drag.

"You know what that could do to my campaign?" Blossom demanded.

"You just showed her how much you want to destroy me, so I think that'll clear you," Brick dropped his cigar and stomped it into the grass. Blossom collapsed into her seat, folding her arms across her chest. Brick pulled out his phone and floated closer to her.

"So… midnight? I'll text you where?" Brick said quietly. Blossom sat silently for a moment, her leg bouncing under the table.

"Midnight is fine."

Several yards away, Butch and Buttercup hovered near the dance floor, which was more like a giant platform with a few dozen teenagers grinding against each other to an indecipherable beat. The DJ scratched a record and nodded his head to the rhythm. Buttercup glanced at her phone, checking the time.

"How long is this joker playing?" she asked Butch.

"Last song," Butch replied. They both sighed in relief. Buttercup turned away and watched some of the other party-goers talk and dance and eat and whatnot. Suddenly, an unmistakable cry cut threw the air.

_"Get her off! Get her off me!"_

"But Grandpa, I wanna see your _braaaainnsss_!"

Mojo Jojo, still in his tiny tuxedo, was clambering across the lawn as Bridie, followed by some classmates, chased after him. After a fearful glance over his shoulder, Mojo noticed Butch and Buttercup. He pursed his lips, and made a beeline for the two of them.

"You!" he roared, pointing a white-gloved finger at them. "As the unfortunate yet responsible guardians of this child, I insist that you enforce your parental authority and stop this brat from chasing me!"

"Hey," Butch snorted, pointing his finger back. "You need to spend more time with your grandkid."

"I think not!" Mojo cried. "I will _not_ waste my precious and irretrievable time on this annoying creature you call my 'grandchild.' No grandchild of mine would be this disrespectful, this bothersome, this infuriating! I reject your familial demands and refuse the ancestral obligations to be present in the life of this second-generational hell-spawn!"

"Hell-spawn?" Buttercup repeated, her lip curling. Buttercup stood her full height – a good three feet taller than Mojo Jojo – hovering a few inches off the ground for good measure. Within a moment, the furious look on Mojo melted into begrudging submission and he sank to his monkey knees. He glared up at them as Bridie crashed full-force into him and ripped his helmet off. Mojo's expression didn't change once as she and her friends poked mercilessly at his now-exposed brain. Buttercup drifted back to the ground, a big smile on her face.

"Atta chimp," Butch laughed, and he and Buttercup turned back to the dance floor. The music had finally ended, and the DJ packed up his stuff as the hoards of teenagers paraded off the floor. After a few minutes, a group of young guys lugged huge cases of instruments on the stage, taking their time to set up. One guy, with a scruffy beard and an equally scruffy head of hair, bounded onto the stage with a neon green guitar. Buttercup stared at him, her eyes narrowing curiously. Butch glanced at her, his gaze trying to match hers.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

"I know him," Buttercup said slowly. "But from… where…"

Then, as if to answer her question, the drummer dropped the bass drum on the ground and angled it to the audience. White letters scrawled on a black background spelled the words "Mitch Rocks!"

"HOLYSHITMITCH!" Buttercup roared, zipping off to the stage. Butch jumped in the air for a second before bounding after her. The scruffy guy on stage turned around just in time to be attacked by the lime green streak that was Buttercup, her strong arms wrapping around his neck so tight he lost his breath. She let go of him and he collapsed into a coughing fit. Buttercup didn't seem to notice.

"_Duuuuude!_ Mitch! Where've you been, man?" Buttercup asked, beaming down at him. After a few seconds of catching his breath, Mitch pushed himself up and stared at Buttercup.

"Hey," he croaked.

"Who the hell is this?" Butch demanded, landing next to Buttercup.

"Only, like, the coolest guy alive," Buttercup replied matter-of-factly. "Mitch Mitchelson!"

Mitch waved at Butch, rubbing his collar bone under his leather jacket. Butch gave him the once-over, unimpressed.

"You're in a band!" Buttercup said excitedly, ignoring Butch. "That is so cool. Is that where you went after school?"

"Yeah, actually," Mitch answered, the pain fading to a dull sore. "Graduated school, tried to do music in college for a while, and then I decided my guitar skills were too cool for school. So, I started a band, and the rest is history."

"Most righteous," Buttercup jeered.

"Totally rad, man," Mitch agreed. The two bumped fists. Mitch glanced at Butch and gave him a crooked smile. "So, who's this?"

"Who?" Buttercup asked, momentarily confused. She turned around and faced Butch, who gave her a dirty look. Buttercup laughed. "Oh! You!" She turned back to Mitch and gestured at Butch. "Butch. The guy."

"The guy," Mitch said, nodding his head. "The Rowdyruff?"

"Yeah, what's it to ya?" Butch said, thrusting his chest out. Mitch snorted.

"Man, are all of you hooked up with each other?" Mitch asked, chuckling.

"I know, right?" Buttercup chuckled with him. "But seriously, yeah, this is… my guy."

"Awesome," Mitch said sincerely. "And I'm guessing the teal thing over yonder is yours, too, huh?"

Buttercup glanced back at Bridie still heckling Mojo Jojo far away. Buttercup grinned and looked back at Mitch.

"Definitely," she answered. Then, Buttercup reached down and swiped up the green guitar off the stage. She slung the strap over her head and plucked a few strings. "Dude, is this Sally?"

"Yes it is," Mitch answered, watching Buttercup with his arms across his chest.

"Aw, I missed her," Buttercup said, strumming a few unsteady chords. "I haven't seen her in years."

"Well, she's my baby," Mitch said. "No one messes with my baby."

"Except me," Buttercup added, giving Mitch a pouty look. Mitch rolled his eyes.

"Except you," he corrected.

"Hey, I can play guitar, too!" Butch chipped in suddenly. Mitch and Buttercup turned to him, both giving similar looks of doubt.

"No, you can't," Buttercup said, dipping her head under the strap and handing the guitar back to Mitch.

"Yeah-huh, I totally can," Butch insisted. He reached for Mitch's guitar, and Mitch instinctively held it back.

"No one touches Sally but me," Mitch reminded Butch. "And Buttercup."

"Fine," Butch grumbled. He looked around the stage and spotted another guitar, just plugged in and ready to play. Butch darted over, snatched it, flipped the amp on, and zipped back over. He strummed once, the distorted, untuned chord reverberating across the field. Buttercup and Mitch looked at him, unconvinced.

"Is that it?" Mitch asked, Buttercup laughing heartlessly.

"No!" Butch exclaimed indignantly. "I just… um…"

Butch ran his fingers over the sharp, steel strings, his other hand twisting the volume knob back and forth. Butch actually had never touched a guitar before, surprisingly, never really interested in playing before. Playing guitar required time better spent doping and screwing around. At this moment, though, he really wished he knew how to play at least something.

"Well?" Buttercup asked, leaning onto Mitch and staring at Butch.

A familiar heat burned in the pit of Butch's stomach. He ran his fingers up the fret board, listening to the cacophonous notes ringing higher and higher. He tried to remember some of his favorite guitar songs, which, of course, were on the farthest end of his memory at the moment. Any of the songs he could remember were foggy or unimpressive at the least. Finally, after a long thought, he remembered one of the best guitar intros he knew, a song that he just had to do every time he played Guitar Hero. He slid his fingers up and down the strings, listening for the opening note. He found it, the open top string groaning through the amp. He searched for the next note, fingers sliding up each string. He found that one, and he played the first and second note once, twice, three times before he was satisfied.

Then, a light from the heavens shined down upon Butch, and something clicked in his brain. An energy he had never felt before burned from his brain through his arms and to his fingertips. The notes sang clear as day into his ears, and without a second thought, his fingers danced along the fret board in perfect tandem. The rest of the world went silent as a perfect rendition of Eric Johnson's "Cliffs of Dover" screamed through the speakers. No one moved, no one stopped him, Butch just played for a solid four minutes and ten seconds, fingering seamlessly through the last riff and bending the last note to finish.

Mitch and Buttercup stared at Butch, jaws on the floor. The rest of the party stared at Butch, equally awed. But no one looked more astonished than Butch, who just looked stupidly at the guitar. After a long pause, he looked up at Mitch and Buttercup. He smiled sheepishly.

"Holy shit!" Mitch exclaimed as the rest of the party finally broke into a cheer. "You weren't kidding!"

"…Yeah!" Butch scoffed, carefully placing the guitar back into its stand, nodding at the long-haired guitarist who owned it. After the awe-struck moment, the rest of the crowd went about their business, and Butch returned to Mitch and Buttercup trying very hard not to reveal his inner confusion.

"Man, how long have you been playing?" Mitch gushed, slinging his guitar over his shoulder and eagerly plugging it in. "Where've you played? With who? Shit, has anyone else heard that?"

"I don't usually, uh, share my talent," Butch said coolly, stretching his arms out.

"You're amazing, dude," Mitch complimented, starting to tune his guitar. "Shame the devil, man. Buttercup—" he nudged Buttercup, who had been strangely quiet the entire time. "—You lucked out, dude."

Mitch nodded at the both of them and then sidled off, plucking half-heartedly on Sally's sad strings. Buttercup nodded, still staring at Butch strangely. Her lower eyelid twitched. Butch looked back at her, an eyebrow raised.

"Hi?" Butch said.

"We need to go," Buttercup said darkly.

"Yeah, okay," Butch said, as Buttercup finally grabbed his arm and pulled him in the direction of the currently vacant tents. Butch eyed her fearfully. "But, um, where are we going?"

"You fuck," Buttercup growled, her chest heaving. She gave him a very nasty look. "Didn't I tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Butch demanded. Buttercup stopped and turned to him. Her eyes twinkled madly.

"I _really_ like musicians."

"Oh," Butch said simply. Then, he blinked. "…Oh. _Oh_. Okay, let's go!"

"Yeah," Buttercup groaned, and the two zoomed into the closest, vacant, and –most importantly – private tent.

The hours passed, and by dusk, many of the usual wedding traditions had finished: Bubbles tossed the bouquet (which was caught be a very confused, very flustered Blossom), she and Boomer cut the towering wedding cake, the Professor and several guests including the Mayor and Ms. Keane gave small heart-warming speeches, and Bubbles and the Professor did the Father/Daughter dance. By now, the party had dwindled down to a quiet gathering, and all that was left was—

"The couple's song," Mitch announced into the microphone. "Since it's not exactly my taste, I just grabbed a recording, if that's okay, Bubbles."

At the edge of the dance floor, Bubbles waved her hand dismissively. Mitch nodded, and then stepped over to the stereo. He pressed 'Play,' and turned the volume up. The gentle ukulele strum echoed through the speakers, and Bubbles dragged an awkward Boomer onto the dance floor. She did a quick twirl before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Boomer wrinkled his nose at her.

"We waited long enough," Bubbles said softly. "Now you have to dance."

"I hate you," Boomer grumbled, glancing at the audience watching them.

"No, you don't," Bubbles said with a grin. Boomer huffed.

"Yeah, yeah…"

"_Well you done done me and you bet I felt it._

_I tried to be chill, but you're so hot that I melted._

_I fell right through the cracks, now I'm trying to get back…"_

Bubbles led Boomer through a very sweet slow dance, mouthing the words along with the song. Back on the grass, Blossom stood along and watched a few other couples join them. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She momentarily considered finding a dance partner and joining as well, but… who? Suddenly, Butch and Buttercup appeared next to her, breathless and adjusting their clothes. Blossom eyed her sister as she straightened the garter on her thigh, skirt pulled up to her waist.

"Where've you been?" Blossom asked, already quite certain of the answer.

"Around," Butch replied vaguely.

"You know, the _bride_ and _groom_ are supposed to consummate their marriage today," Blossom said quietly.

"Yeah, well," Buttercup laughed, dropping her skirt back into place and grabbing Butch's hand. They two spun onto the floor, Buttercup sticking her tongue out at Blossom mid-twirl. Blossom rolled her eyes and continued watching the couples dance happily to Jason Mraz.

"_Listen to the music of moment, maybe dance with me._

_I love peaceful melody._

_It's your God-forsaken right to be loved, loved, loved."_

Many of the couples stepped lightly to the gentle melody, occasionally giggling or stumbling about. Butch and Buttercup humorously rocked out to the beat, much to the amusement of those around them. Blossom even saw Bridie waltzing with the Professor. And in the middle, Bubbles and Boomer drifted in circles, eyes closed, toes gliding above the floor, and a comfortable smile on their faces. Once in a while, they would sing along soundlessly. Blossom sighed, ignoring the soft ache in her chest.

"Would it be too presumptuous for us to dance?" Brick's voice whispered into her ear. Blossom chuckled and looked up at him. Brick's eyebrows flashed. It would be nice, Blossom thought to herself. And yet…

"Yeah, it would."

_"There's no need to complicate,_

_Our time is short._

_This is our fate._

_I'm yours."_


	4. Chapter 3 :: Something

**Chapter 3 – Something**

By ten o'clock, the party was pretty much over, a few stragglers cleaning up the remaining messes. The bands were long gone, most of the tents disassembled, and the food wrapped or disposed of. The wedding party table was still up, and Bubbles sat next to the Professor, leaning sleepily on his shoulder. Blossom, Buttercup, and Bridie supervised the clean-up while the Boys shared a smoke a few yards away. Butch took a great puff on his cigar, savoring the bittersweet tastes. Brick nibbled on his own cigar as Boomer watched the ash drop from the one in his hand. Brick clicked his tongue.

"You smoke it, Boomer. It's celebratory," he said, tucking his cigar in his mouth.

"Actually, you puff it," Butch corrected. "Don't inhale. Unless you're me." Butch then inhaled, taking the unfiltered smoke in like a pro. After a moment, he exhaled, blowing the smoke past his eye and tickling the black fringe of his bangs. Boomer didn't speak, but carefully brought the cigar to his lips. He took a deep breath through his nose before taking a small puff. Brick watched him, smirking.

"So, everything ready for tonight?"

Boomer gagged, accidentally inhaling and thus choking on large clouds of smoke. Brick and Butch chuckled as Boomer tried to catch his breath, wheezing and coughing helplessly. He sneezed, took several gulps of air, and finally spoke.

"Um. I, uh… I guess?" He coughed.

"_He's gonna hit it_," Butch sang, thrusting his hips in a very not-so wholesome dance. "_He's gonna hit it. Boomer's gonna hit it. Little bro's gonna hit it—_"

"Oh, please tell me you know what to do," Brick interrupted, shoving Butch in the side. "You've done it before, right? I swear, I cannot coach you through this one. I can't be there to tell you what to do."

"I can!" Butch said cheerfully. "It's easy. All you gotta do is—"

"STOP!" Boomer cried before Butch could get even remotely graphic. "I don't wanna talk about this. I don't wanna think about this."

"You're gonna have to if you're gonna seal off this night," Brick said. He took a quick puff. "Consummate the marriage, y'know."

"If it helps, I already did it for you," Butch said simply. "Just… not with the bride. 'Course."

"Yeah, thanks," Boomer grumbled, tossing his cigar on the ground and bitterly stomping it out. He scratched the back of his neck.

"Really?" Brick spat. "You're nervous? We're never nervous. Rowdyruffs are never nervous."

"_I'm_ never nervous," Butch laughed, finishing off his cigar. "Especially when it comes to this."

"But this is… This is Bubbles!" Boomer whined, gesturing at her. "It's…. fffucking Bubbles."

"Exactly! Fucking Bubbles." Butch said, thrusting his hips a few times for good measure.

"Okay, even I can't imagine that," Brick snorted, rubbing his forehead.

"See?" Boomer exclaimed. "It's _her_. It's… Bubbles! If God could make heaven into a pure, unfathomably, intangibly sacred being, it would be Bubbles."

"Wow, that was deep," Brick commented dryly.

"But you get it! I don't know… I can't… It's Bubbles…" Boomer stared off in her direction. He gulped.

"So, you… hit it gently?" Butch suggested, shrugging his shoulders. Brick exploded into smoky laughter, Butch chuckling to himself. Boomer glared at them.

"Okay, Boomer, look," Brick pulled Boomer next to him, in that same brotherly headlock from this morning, "do what you gotta do, okay?"

"_Merp_," Boomer grunted in his brother's arm. Brick let him go, and then put his cigar out on his tongue. He tucked it in his breast pocket and eyed his brother, who was rubbing his neck furiously.

"See you in a week, huh?" Brick said with a wink. Boomer wrinkled his nose and nodded. Butch flicked his cigar away and leapt on Boomer.

"I'm so happy for you, Little Bro!" he mock-sobbed, lifting Boomer up and squeezing him tight. After a second, he let him go and gripped him by the shoulders. "Make me proud."

"…Thanks," Boomer wheezed. Butch snickered and let him go. Then, he and Brick nodded at Boomer and the two headed off towards the Girls.

"I'm going to miss you," the Professor said, hugging Bubbles for the umpteenth time that day.

"I'll be back in a week," Bubbles reminded him, hugging him back anyway. "And we'll be around all time. We always are."

"But…" The Professor looked at Bubbles, tears welling up in his eyes. He tried to think of the words he wanted to say, but his mind was already fast asleep. He settled on just smiling at his daughter, hugging her one last time.

"Hey!" Buttercup snapped nearby. "Y'all got somewhere to be."

"Everything looks good," Blossom said, floating next to Buttercup. "Just gotta pack up the table and your chairs." She smiled warmly at Bubbles and the Professor, wrapping her arms around herself. The Professor finally let go of Bubbles and the two stood up, allowing Butch and Bridie to grab their chairs and toss them on a cart a few feet away. Buttercup lifted the table and folded it in one swift move. Eventually, everything was cleaned and packed, leaving just the wedding party and their things. After a once-over, Brick saluted them and took off downtown. Butch, Bridie, and the Professor grabbed the chairs and the table and headed to the Professor's station wagon. That just left Boomer standing alone in the field, watching Bubbles say goodnight to her sisters.

"Feel okay?" Blossom asked quietly, grinning at Bubbles.

"Just… tired…" Bubbles replied, stifling a yawn.

"Not too tired, I hope," Buttercup commented, raising her eyebrows and gnawing on a toothpick.

"Buttercup!" Blossom chuckled, nudging Buttercup in the ribs. Bubbles rolled her eyes, beaming at her sisters.

"I think I'm okay," Bubbles said simply. Buttercup gave Blossom a knowing look, to which Blossom just sighed. She grabbed Bubbles suitcase and handed it to her.

"Have an excellent honeymoon," Blossom said, embracing her sister and giving her a peck on the cheek. Buttercup bounded forward and hugged Bubbles, too, whispering in her ear at the last second, "_Destroy him_."

Bubbles eyed Buttercup, who made a face and rolled her hips suggestively. Suddenly, Butch appeared next to her.

"Aw, I know what you guys are talking about!" Butch exclaimed. Buttercup laughed and the two high-fived. Blossom sighed once again.

"Go," Blossom urged. "Before these two have something else to say about it."

"Bye," Bubbles said softly, backing up into the air. She turned to Boomer, who floated slowly up next to her, avoiding eye contact. He and Bubbles waved at the others below. Butch cat-called back, much to the amusement of Buttercup and the bereavement of Blossom.

Without another thought, Boomer grabbed Bubbles' hand and the two took off towards the moon, a single blue streak in the starry sky.

To be honest, Bubbles had no idea where she and Boomer were going. It was a surprise, and Bubbles was more than excited about it, especially since Boomer himself set it up. After only a few minutes, the two sailed way out of Townsville and out above the open ocean. Bubbles listened to the peaceful splashing of the waves below, and she turned to Boomer.

"So where are we going?" she chirped, squeezing the handle of her suitcase happily.

"You'll see," Boomer replied quietly, his eyes scanning the waters. Then, he stopped in mid-air and turned to Bubbles.

"Close your eyes now, okay?"

Bubbles obeyed without question, and she felt Boomer relieve her of her suitcase, grab her hand, and carefully lead her down to the sea. Bubbles felt the salty mist caress her face as they approached the waves, her toes gliding along the surface and cool water seeping into her shoes. Bubbles giggled, the water tickling her feet.

"You okay?" Boomer asked. Bubbles nodded, keeping her eyes squeezed shut. A few minutes later, she felt her toes scrape across sand, grains gathering in her shoes. Finally, they came to a halt, Bubbles feet sinking into the surprisingly warm sand. A familiar smell wafted past her nose, but what it was, she couldn't remember. Boomer let go of her hand, and she heard her suitcase thump on the ground nearby.

"Now?" Bubbles asked.

"Not yet…"

Bubbles waited as Boomer rustled about, a snap of twigs here, an irritated grunt there. She thought she heard the short zing of an eyebeam. All of a sudden, Bubbles felt Boomer zoom behind her and gently guide her forward. Bubbles covered her eyes with her hands, suppressing the temptation to open them. They stopped, and Boomer took a deep breath.

"…Okay. Now."

Bubbles opened her eyes… and her jaw dropped.

A dazzling fire crackled next to a large hand-built wooden shelter covered in palm leaves and bright hibiscus flowers, colors ranging from pink and red to orange and yellow. Inside the shelter, Bubbles could see a palette of fluffy-looking blankets, a bouquet of orchids on the pillows. She remembered what the familiar scent was: pineapple, a whole pile of them next the shelter, along with mangoes, melons, kiwis, and bananas. Everything looked hand-picked. Several yards away the ocean crashed along the shore, and beyond the shore was the most breath-taking view of the sky Bubbles had ever seen. Every star, numbers rivaling the grains of sand on the shore, twinkled with the half-moon, their countless reflections glowing on the ocean's surface.

It was simple. But it was beautiful.

"I, um, wasn't sure if you'd be hungry after today," Boomer said behind Bubbles. Bubbles whirled around, and Boomer stared off at the pile of fruit. "But they're there, just in case."

"Boomer…"

"I also wasn't sure if you'd recognize the island," Boomer said, casting his eyes down to the sand. "It kinda looks like any other island. I mean, I had a helluva time trying to find it—"

"It's beautiful," Bubbles said softly. Boomer finally looked up at her, the fire reflecting off his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Yes!" Bubbles squealed, leaping on him so hard they almost collapsed. "Boomer, it's perfect! Everything's perfect!"

"…Yeah?" Boomer repeated.

"Yes." Bubbles pulled away, leaving her arms wrapped around his neck. She looked up at him, the smile plastered on her round face. "Perfect."

They looked at each other, Bubbles eyelids drooping, Boomer's shuddering breath slowing. Bubbles leaned in… They kissed, very soft, very sweet. Then, Boomer gently pushed her away, quickly turning to the fire and tossing in another log. Bubbles watched him, clutching her hands behind her back. Boomer turned back to her and tugged on his tie. He gulped.

"Should we...?" he looked away, then back at Bubbles. He shifted his feet. Bubbles sighed and floated towards him. Boomer instinctively winced, an action he immediately regretted. But Bubbles just smiled and stared at him. He stared back, unsure… unsure of what to do or say.

"I'm sleepy," Bubbles said. Boomer suddenly felt her hand in his. "Tonight was perfect. Let's just sleep."

"Yeah?" Boomer said, not sure if he sounded disappointed or relieved. Bubbles looked him straight in the eyes, her lips pursed.

"Yes." She pecked him on the lips. "Let's go to bed."

"…Okay."

Boomer let her pull him to the shelter, where they changed into sleeping clothes. Bubbles wrapped herself in one of the fluffy blankets and, once Boomer sat on the edge of the palette, nestled her head against his. He chuckled and poked her in the side. She squeaked, and playfully tried to jab him back. He grabbed her wrist and they struggled for a moment, Bubbles chattering madly at him. Finally, she gave up, and fell back against him, pouting. Somehow, Boomer found Bubbles hand, and he laced his fingers in hers.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

"Psh," Bubbles teased. Boomer rolled his eyes. Then…

"I love you, Bubbles."

"I love you, too, Boomer."

* * *

><p><em>"I don't know who she's fooling, but the evidence is clear: Blossom Utonium is having a relationship with Brick Fratellino. It's obvious!"<em>

_"Well, Jimmy, I think the allegations are false. Why would Blossom challenge her candidacy like that? There's just too much on the line for the rumors to be true."_

_"Well, Sally, you might be right, but the proof speaks otherwise. There have been sightings, pictures, witnesses, we're just missing the incriminating recordings!"_

Jimmy laughed, and even Sally smiled a little, her wide, white grin shining through the television.

_"I don't know, Jimmy, but until something like incriminating recordings show up, I just can't agree with you."_

Blossom clicked the remote, and the television shut off with a static buzz. She folded her arms across her chest and stared at the blank screen. She sniffled.

"I really like how they call me 'Brick Fratellino,'" Brick said thoughtfully next to her. "I mean, I don't have a last name… I guess that works."

"This is getting seriously out of hand," Blossom said, grabbing one of the hotel blankets from the bed they were on and wrapping herself up in it. She then grabbed her brush on the nightstand and quickly brushed the knots out of her hair.

"Well, if you came to Chicago more often instead of me coming here all the time, maybe it wouldn't seem as suspicious," Brick said frankly.

"We discussed this," Blossom huffed. "It is perfectly normal for us both to be in Townsville; Chicago is a little less understanding of super-powered beings."

"Welp," Brick snapped, "I guess we're fucked, huh?"

"Ugh, Brick…" Blossom slid off the bed and slipped her nightgown back on, Brick blatantly watching her with a cool smirk on his face. Blossom ignored him and floated to the window, peeking between the blinds.

"We're close to my headquarters," she said. "I'll leave first."

"You can always _not_ leave," Brick said simply, smoothing his hand over his unusually unkempt hair. It felt strange, considering how much it had grown. He hadn't had his hair down to his neck since before he joined the Family. He kinda missed his long hair, especially when he was constantly reminded of it when Blossom was around.

"Brick, are you listening?"

Brick stopped his musing and looked back at Blossom, who glared at him. Then, she heaved a great sigh and started gathering her things.

"I swear," Brick started. "You should _not_ be this uptight anymore." Blossom scoffed at him.

"Yes, well, I've got things to do, reputations to uphold…"

"You're insane," Brick commented.

"And you're ridiculous," Blossom said, ripping her bra out from under his leg.

"And yet here we are," Brick said, holding his hands up. "Once a week, same old arguments, same old bullshit."

"About that," Blossom said, tucking her things in her bag. "Maybe we should just wait a couple weeks before we meet again. Maybe that will get the press off my back."

"Our backs," Brick corrected.

"My back," Blossom corrected again.

"Whatever," Brick snapped. "I don't care. Fuck that. You'll miss me in a week."

Blossom stopped and looked him, her eyes narrowing as the smile on his face grew. Blossom snorted.

"I've got things to do," Blossom said. "And I just realized my fundraiser is tomorrow at nine and I've already wasted enough time."

"Then go," Brick spat, grabbing the remote and flipping the TV back on. "What's stopping you?"

Blossom pulled on her jacket. She stared at Brick, an uneasy feeling in her stomach. She sighed, wrapping her arms around her bag. Brick flipped through the channels, his eyes locked on the screen. Blossom momentarily considered how dull they looked in the cold TV light. She bit her lip. Then, she hovered over to him.

"Brick, I—"

He didn't even twitch. If she didn't know better, Blossom would've thought he didn't hear her. Nonetheless, Blossom leaned forward, held his face in her hand, and pressed her lips to his cheek; the same good-bye she gave him every time. Then, as usual, he grabbed her hand and looked up at her, a knowing smirk on his face. She smiled sadly.

"_Ciao, bella,_" Brick said, his dialect thick American, and turned his gaze back to the television. Blossom slipped her hand away and floated to the door. She had done this dozens upon dozens of times now. Months. The scene changed locations, but the script stayed the same. And the same thought came to mind every time she opened the door and left:

It never gets any easier.

* * *

><p>It was dark; Bubbles had to blink a few times to get used to it. She sat up, the shapes of the shelter and the trees and the ocean slowly coming into focus. From the entrance, she could see the sparkling paint swipes of moonlight on the sea, but otherwise… darkness. She didn't even remember slipping off the covers and floating her way outside. The next thing she knew, she saw him standing knee-deep in the water, his eyes locked on the moon. She smiled.<p>

"Boomer," she said softly. Bubbles hovered closer, her feet gliding through the sand. She stopped, just where the cold water could tickle her toes. She shivered slightly in the misty breeze.

"Boomer," she repeated, holding herself. She tried to rub some warmth back into her arms. He didn't move.

"Boom—"

"What's wrong with you?" he snapped. Bubbles shivered again. He didn't even bother to look at her. She bit her lip as she shifted uncomfortably.

"I asked you a question," Boomer said, the tone of his voice colder than the waves.

"N-nothing," Bubbles replied. "I-I'm cold. Let's get back in the tent."

"Then what's wrong with me?" Boomer demanded, his shoulder twitching. He still wouldn't look at her.

"There's nothing wrong with you, Boomer," Bubbles answered slowly. "Unless there's… something on your mind?"

"Yeah, there is," Boomer retorted. Finally, he turned to her, his eyes narrowed and a sneer plastered on his face. Bubbles shivered once more. She felt herself trip backwards, her foot landing with a light thud onto the sand.

"Why won't you sleep with me?" Boomer asked, his lip curling.

"I-I told you. I'm sorry…" Bubbles mumbled. "I'm just… I'm not…"

"In the mood?" Boomer finished for her. "Or attracted to me? Maybe I just don't… rub you the right way."

"Boomer, this is silly," Bubbles said. "I love you. You know that."

"Do you, now?" Boomer chided. He faced her completely, and Bubbles suddenly became very aware of just how much bigger he was than her. He took a step toward her, and the only thing she could think to do was step back. Her foot sank deep into the wet sand, the water splashing against her ankles. She pulled her foot out, only to sink the other foot even deeper into the shore.

"Yes," Bubbles said, stronger. "I love you, Boomer. I wouldn't marry you if I didn't."

"That's not true," Boomer said, taking another step towards her. His feet seemed totally free of the weight of the water. Bubbles took a tiny step back, sand sucking her deeper into its grasp.

"You could feel sorry for me," Boomer said darkly. A muscle twitched in his cheek. "Poor ole loser Boomer, not even good enough to be a Powerpuff _Girl_, let alone a Rowdyruff _Boy_. A lost puppy, looking for love. A tortured soul in need of some dire attention."

"What are you talking about?" Bubbles asked, blinking away some tears. "I love you because… because I love you."

"Then why won't you _fuck_ me?" Boomer spat. His lips curled into an utter sneer, his breath shaking with fury. He snorted. "Why?"

"I don't know!" Bubbles cried. "I'm – I'm not – I'm not ready!" She tried to jump, lifting her feet out of the sand for a split-second. But she only sank deeper, the water now up to her mid-calves.

"Are you afraid of me?"

Bubbles stared at him. Boomer's eyes had shrunk to angry slits shining with darkness she had never seen before. Then… Bubbles stood up straight, her fists clenched at her sides.

"Boomer, this isn't you," Bubbles whispered, more to herself than anything.

"You're afraid of me," Boomer said.

"No, I'm not," Bubbles said.

"I think you _are_," Boomer said, a melodic lilt erupting in his voice. Bubbles inhaled, summoning all the strength she could muster right now.

"No," she repeated, louder. "I am not afraid of you."

"Well, _fuck_ you," Boomer snickered. He floated out of the water, droplets evaporating before they could rain back down. Suddenly, his mouth morphed into an ugly smile. _"Fuck you indeed…"_

"No!" Bubbles yelled firmly. Her heart jumped to her throat. She choked it back and yelled again. "No!"

"Heh heh, yeah," Boomer hissed. Bubbles tugged at her legs, sinking her nails into her knees. She pulled, only to fall backwards with a smack. Water rushed over her face, the salt water scraping her eyes. She gasped, swallowing a mouthful of water. She pushed herself up, her fingers rooting into the sand. Boomer grinned at her, his eyes now glowing bright red.

"_Fuuuuck_ you," he chuckled.

"No!" Bubbles screamed. "Stop it!"

"Mmm, I think I like it when you scream…"

There was a flash of fire, and Bubbles felt the tremendous weight slamming her back into the water. Water rushed into her nose, her ears, her throat, drowning out the sound of cold laughter. She pushed herself back up, spitting the water out of her mouth. A scratch and a sudden splash on her chest, she saw her nightgown fly through the air. Another scratch between her legs... One hand smashed her back into the water, another hand sliding around her waist. She screamed, bubbles bursting off her lips. Then, with incredible energy even she didn't know she had left, Bubbles lunged out of the water, knocking Boomer off of her. She trembled, the sea crashing against her bare body.

"Stay… away… from me…" Bubbles wheezed, holding back a great sob.

Boomer knelt on the ground, staring at her and panting like a vicious beast. He licked his lips, a forked-tongue slithering past his teeth. He chuckled, a strange chord reverberating in his throat.

"_Never…_"

"NO!" Bubbles screamed, shaking herself awake.

"Holysh—Bubbles?" Boomer jumped, crying out sleepily.

"NO! GET AWAY!" Bubbles cried, shooting off an eyebeam at Boomer and searing the side of his face.

"OW! FUCK!" Boomer shouted, clutching his face and rolling off the palette.

Bubbles wept, holding herself around her knees. She looked around the shelter, feeling the cool, dry sand, smelling the sweet orchids on the bed, breathing in the fresh sea air. Moments later, Bubbles heard the grumbling whimpers of Boomer on the other side of the shelter. All of a sudden, she finally realized where she was.

"Oh, no. Boomer? Are you okay?" Bubbles crawled across the palette and leaned over the edge, wringing her hands. Boomer knelt up and gingerly opened his right eye. He winced, the burn slicing like razors across his face.

"Boomer, I'm so sorry, I thought—I just—"

"God damn it, OW! What the hell, Bubbles?" Boomer demanded, wishing the Chemical X would heal the wound already.

"I… I had a bad dream. I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" Bubbles cried helplessly, backing away from Boomer and cowering into herself. Once Boomer felt the cooling beneath his skin, he blinked a few times, and then looked at Bubbles. She sobbed silently into her knees, her fingernails burrowed into her skin. Boomer's heart sank.

"It's… it's okay," Boomer said, sliding back onto the palette and considering whether it was safe to touch her or not. "I'm okay. Really. Just… I'm fine, see?"

Bubbles looked up at him, her eyes bloodshot. Boomer smiled weakly, wincing as the burn healed itself in moments. Bubbles shook her head and burrowed her face back into her knees. Boomer stared at her for a moment, and then sighed. He crawled up next to her and pulled her close to him.

"You had a dream," Boomer repeated, trying to remember what she had said.

"Y-y-yeah," Bubbles stuttered.

"What happened?" Boomer asked, his voice tired, though genuinely interested. Bubbles didn't exactly want to tell him, though. How would she?

"You were just… you were evil, I guess," Bubbles replied, choosing her words carefully.

"So, I was exactly the same," Boomer joked. Bubbles chuckled, though whether it was a laugh or another sob, she didn't know.

"You tried to hurt me," Bubbles explained. Boomer snickered.

"I would never do that… not anymore, at least."

Bubbles laughed – a real one.

"I'm sorry," Boomer said, giving her a squeeze. "I'm just… really tired and… in a lot of pain."

"I'm sorry!" Bubbles cried again, laughing a little through the tears.

"I know, I'm fine!" Boomer said, rolling his eyes. He looked at her. "But you know I wouldn't hurt you. You're okay now."

"Yeah… I know…"

"Just… please don't laser me in the face again," Boomer said. Bubbles groaned and gently kissed the burn, the scar already fading away.

"I won't, it was an accident," Bubbles insisted.

"I know," Boomer nodded, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall. "I know."

Bubbles stared at him, her tears settling to mere sniffles. She became strangely aware of his bare chest, his lightly-toned arms wrapped around her middle. She noticed the pale pink scar near his chest - the souvenir of his run-in with the Queen of Hearts last year. Bubbles remembered the horror, the blood pouring out of him, the color disappearing from his cheeks. He almost died… she almost lost him. Boomer had no other scars. After all those years of fighting, even Bubbles never scarred him. She couldn't hurt him. Luckily, he couldn't hurt her either.

Never.

With that, Bubbles twirled in her spot and kissed Boomer hard on the lips. He reacted by nearly falling off the palette. Bubbles pulled away, her breath fast and shallow. Boomer looked at her, horrified. Bubbles fell on top of him, her arms still around his neck.

"Ehh—hi?" Boomer stammered.

Bubbles kissed him again, then pulled away and looked at him excitedly. Boomer felt her hand tug at his pajama pants. Boomer yelped and sat up.

"WHOA. _NOW?"_

"Boomer," Bubbles giggled. Her hand glided up his stomach and stopped on the scar on his chest. She sighed and looked up at Boomer. She kissed him again. After a very long, very nice moment, Boomer pulled away.

"…okay."

* * *

><p>Back in Townsville, Buttercup heard a noise. She sat up, her messy hair plastered with drool on her face. She listened, not even opening her eyes. Next to her, Butch stirred, opening his eyes just a slit.<p>

"What?"

"You hear that?" Buttercup asked groggily.

Butch listened for a moment, too. Then, the two grinned and chuckled quietly,

"Awesome."


	5. Chapter 4 :: I Need You Now

**Chapter 4 – I Need You Now**

"Wow… I haven't seen that in _years_," Blossom commented as she watched Butch duck through the strap of her old maroon electric guitar. She could barely remember how she got the guitar in the first place – something about a clown? – but it sure was a kick to see it again. Buttercup had dug it and her old olive-green bass out of storage, and now she and Butch were setting up to jam, dusting off fret boards and plugging in short-circuiting amps. Butch twisted the tuning knobs, simultaneously plucking the respective strings. For someone who'd barely touched a musical instrument until a week ago, Butch managed to perfectly tune the guitar, striking a clean G-chord in the process. He smiled triumphantly.

"I don't even think I remember how to play," Buttercup grumbled, picking the thick chords of her bass.

"Did we _ever _actually know?" Blossom wondered. Then, Butch kicked his amp on and struck a growling power chord, causing the ground to tremble and disrupting a nearby flock of birds. Blossom cringed and instinctively grabbed the quivering garage door above her head.

"_Niiiiice_," Buttercup laughed. After a second, she sensed Blossom's disapproval and lowered the volume on Butch's amp.

"So are you guys really gonna start a band?" Bridie chirped from her spot on top of the tool bench in the corner. Butch and Buttercup immediately gave her twin glares.

"No!" Butch snapped, turning away from Blossom and tapping the fret board. Buttercup snorted at Bridie before turning to Blossom.

"A band?" Blossom repeated, folding her arms across her chest.

"Okay, Red, I know what you're gonna say," Buttercup started, slipping off her bass and carefully placing it against the wall. She leapt in front of Blossom. "You think the idea is completely—"

"Ridiculous," Blossom finished dryly.

"And you think that we're totally—"

"Insane."

"And you don't even know why we—"

"Bothered to ask?"

"Hey, you were pretty close," Butch said over his shoulder.

"Well, your intuitions are spot on, Buttercup," Blossom said simply. "No, I don't approve."

"Yeah, I knew you would say that," Buttercup agreed. "But _come – on._ This is something we really want do. And with my awesome singing skills, and Butch's super-crazy-awesome guitar skills, I think we can actually… go somewhere. Y'know?"

"What, between saving Townsville and raising a rambunctious five-year-old?" Blossom quipped.

"Hey, Bridie's totally behind us, right?" Buttercup said, glancing at Bridie. Bridie nodded.

"It would be so cool!" Bridie squeaked, flailing her fists excitedly.

"See?" Buttercup lilted. "And besides – we have days off. And what else are we gonna do? Video games? Eat?"

"Other stuff," Butch added.

"You can train your daughter," Blossom said. "Or just train in general."

"Are you serious?" Buttercup scoffed. "Do Butch and I really need any more training? Outside of the usual?"

"Not really," Butch answered.

"Shut up, Butch," Buttercup growled.

"Sorry."

"I don't care," Blossom stated. "Look, I admit Butch's skills are superb, to say the least. And though I don't recall your own music skills, I agree you probably could do well."

Buttercup harrumphed triumphantly.

"But I really don't want to see you two waste time and let your other responsibilities fall behind," Blossom finished. "To be honest, I'm not sure you guys could juggle parenting, crime-fighting, and performing at the same time."

"How do you know unless you let us try?" Buttercup countered, stomping her foot.

"Because I _know_ the ramifications of juggling multiple lives," Blossom replied, momentarily remembering the stress from last year when she tried to handle two concurrent jobs: super heroine _and_ private defense attorney.

"Then why are you running for mayor?" Butch asked suddenly, finally turning around and facing Blossom. Buttercup glanced at him, and then turned back to Blossom, a funny smirk on her face.

"Because," Blossom began slowly, "being mayor and protecting Townsville are practically one and the same. Mayoral duties are basically the same as ours, except we fight monsters."

"Oh, so you're saying _you_ can juggle mayor duty and Powerpuff duty at the same time, huh?" Buttercup demanded.

"Frankly, yes," Blossom answered.

"Well, aren't you Queen Awesome," Buttercup spat, crossing her arms.

"I'm only being honest," Blossom said. She pursed her lips, her expression firm. Buttercup's nose twitched.

"It's not like we actually need your approval, anyway," Buttercup retorted quietly.

"Well, if you think that, then why are you asking me?" Blossom asked.

Buttercup eyed her for a moment, then turned away. She floated back to her guitar, slung the strap over her neck, and flipped the switch on her amp. Blossom leaned against the doorframe and stared off at the spring greenery outside. The fresh grass wavered in the gentle wind as Butch and Buttercup picked some tunes in otherwise silence. Then, two blue streaks rose from the south horizon. Blossom smiled.

"They're back!" she sang.

"Who?" Buttercup asked, her voice harsher than necessary.

Within seconds, the blue streaks zipped through the sky and spiraled down to the front lawn. A fresh-looking and significantly darker Bubbles and Boomer landed on the grass with a soft thud. Right away, Bubbles dropped her bag and spun over to her sister.

"Blossom!" she cried, embracing her sisters.

"Shit, it's been a week already?" Butch chuckled as Boomer hovered into view.

"Hey, guys," Boomer said with a quick wave. He caught sight of the instruments. "Jam session?"

"Hell yeah!" Butch exclaimed. He tugged the guitar off and dropped it on the floor before floating over to his brother and giving him a bear hug. "How are ya, dude?"

"_Mmmmph_," Boomer mustered. Then Butch let him go, and after a quick gasp of air, spoke again. "Good. I'm good."

"Yeah, you are," Buttercup jibed. Butch burst into laughter.

"Really, Buttercup?" Bubbles scorned, though she broke into a grin right away. Buttercup grinned sheepishly.

"Did you have a good week?" Blossom asked, smoothing a kink in her hair.

"We did," Bubbles giggled, glimpsing at Boomer who was fiddling with the strap on his bag. Bubbles turned back to her sister. "And we'll tell you all about it as soon as I get some tea."

"Some of it," Boomer corrected her, eying Butch and Buttercup, a small smile playing on his face. Butch's jaw dropped as Buttercup snickered.

"I like him better after he gets some," she stage-whispered to Butch.

"Some what?" Bridie cheeped.

"Coffee!" Blossom snapped, grinning cheerfully at Bubbles and Boomer. "Let's go put a pot on, shall we?"

"What are you guys up to?" Boomer asked as he watched Butch and Buttercup untangle themselves from the cords and instruments.

"They're starting a band!" Bridie answered, pushing off the tool bench and floating over to her parents.

"Really?" Boomer said. "Not a bad idea, actually."

"See?" Buttercup lilted again, she and Butch both gesturing at Boomer. Boomer's eyebrows rose, concerned.

"Ugh. We'll discuss this later," Blossom huffed, jabbing the button to close the garage door. The others heade d inside while Blossom pulled out her phone to check the time. She poked the touch screen – _1 New Message._ Blossom frowned and poked the message. A text filled the screen.

"Who's that?" Bubbles asked as Blossom's gaze darted across the screen in her hand. Suddenly, she blushed.

"No one," she lied, sliding her finger across the screen, hiding the message. "Someone from the campaign headquarters sending nonsense chain texts."

"I hate those," Bubbles empathized. Then, she skipped inside, leaving Blossom alone. Blossom glided across the floor, staring at the door, waiting for someone to pop back in. After a moment, she pulled the message back up. She smirked and tapped out a reply:

"_Of course. See you tonight."_

* * *

><p>Blossom whipped her hair back, her chest still heaving. Brick rolled over and wiped the sweat off his brow. He heaved a deep sigh.<p>

"I told you you would miss me," he said. Blossom glared at him, the grin on his face visible even in the darkness. She rolled her eyes and tugged the lamp cord, momentarily blinding them with the golden light. Blossom quickly tugged the cord twice more, effectively dimming the light. She turned back to Brick, who was searching through his dress coat on the bedpost. After a moment, he pulled out his cigar case and a book of matches.

"I just figured it was safe again," Blossom said, covering herself with the blanket. She reached down on the floor, grabbed her purse, and acquired her hairbrush. The two began their usual rituals, Blossom brushing her hair and Brick lighting up.

"I think," Brick started, taking the initial puff, "that years of being a goody-two-shoes has made you a bad liar."

"And I think that years of criminal activity has made _you_ a pathetic excuse of a human being, but we don't talk about these things," Blossom countered, smiling.

"Ouch," Brick said dryly. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you hated me."

"I do hate you, Brick," Blossom said.

"And that's why we do this every week!" Brick exclaimed, as if he discovered something. "By Jove! It all makes sense!"

"Hush, you," Blossom chuckled, dropping a strand of hair on the carpet.

"But seriously," Brick said, tucking the cigar in one corner of his mouth. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," Blossom replied with a shrug. "Campaign's doing just fine. Crime-fighting is fairly normal. Bubbles and Boomer came home."

"How are they?"

"Chipper," Blossom said, wrinkling her nose.

"Please tell me they got it on, because I swear—"

"I think so," Blossom answered. "Boomer is unusually… happy. He's actually cracking jokes, if you can believe it."

"No way," Brick scoffed. "What kind of Boomer clowns around like a happy fool?"

"It's a pleasant surprise," Blossom said. "I like him a lot more when he isn't brooding or clawing the skin off his neck."

"Eh, it just sounds like he's six again," Brick sneered. "How sweet – Bubbles makes him feel young again." Then he frowned, disturbed.

"_Anyways_," Blossom continued, stifling a giggle, "apparently Butch and Buttercup are starting a band."

Brick eyed her, his lip curling.

"Bullshit. All of it. Everything you're telling me is bullshit."

"You're telling me," Blossom sniffed. "But otherwise, nothing too big. Nothing serious."

"Excellent," Brick said, taking another puff.

"How about you? How are things with you lately?" Blossom asked.

"We don't talk about my life, remember?" Brick reminded her, lifting his boxer-briefs off the floor with his toes.

"Ah," Blossom said, nodding her head. She tucked her brush back into her purse and placed it carefully on the side table. She looked away as Brick quickly slipped on his underwear and dress pants. Brick sat back on the bed.

"What, you're not going to pry?" Brick ribbed, carelessly tapping his ashes on the carpet.

"No," Blossom replied, eying the gray ash on the otherwise white carpet. She turned back to Brick. He stared at her, one eyebrow raised.

"No?" Brick repeated.

"I am not going to fight you if you don't want to share some details of your life with me," Blossom explained matter-of-factly.

"Oh, fuck no," Brick snapped. "You fight me."

"I will not fight you!" Blossom exclaimed, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Yes, you will," Brick quipped.

"Absolutely not."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes!"

"I said no!"

"You're arguing with me now," Brick said, grinning. Blossom glared at him for a second, and then rolled her eyes. Brick chuckled. "Good girl."

"Don't you patronize me like that," Blossom spat. She tucked herself further into her blanket.

"Don't stop fighting me," Brick said simply. "Never stop fighting me."

"Why not?" Blossom asked.

"Because that's the way it is, toots," Brick said, placing a hand on her exposed ankle. "That's the way it is."

With that, Blossom kicked him in the side and burrowed her feet into the nest of blankets. Brick snorted out a cloud of smoke, smiling triumphantly. Then Blossom swiped his black button-up from the floor, managing not to accidentally expose herself. She slipped it on, blankets still around her chest, and slowly worked the buttons closed. When she finished, she pulled the blankets down to her lap and smoothed the wrinkles out of his shirt. For someone who wasn't much bigger than her, Brick certainly wore enormous clothes. It almost felt heavy around the wrists and around her chest, and the shoulders fell to the middle of her upper arm.

"What are you doing?" Brick asked, staring at Blossom incredulously.

"Your shirt is long and I'm not sure where my underpants went," Blossom answered frankly.

"Huh," Brick said, his eyes slipping down to her – _his_ – shirt. He nodded.

"Well, if you insist," Blossom started, leaning against the headboard. "Please, Brick, tell me about what's going on with the Family."

"I'm not telling you shit," Brick said. He stood up. He then floated over to the mini-bar and helped himself to a glass of water.

"Such an enigma," Blossom teased, her eyes widening for a beat.

"Damn straight."

"Oh, please, Brick, I don't think I can handle the mystery anymore!" Blossom whined, tilting her head and touching the back of her hand to her forehead.

"I think you can act better than that," Brick commented. He hovered back to the bed, placing a glass on the table next to Blossom.

"This is ridiculous," she sighed.

"You're ridiculous," Brick jibed.

"I'm not fighting you just for the sake of it," Blossom stated. "That's pointless."

"I can piss you off," Brick suggested. "You're a prudish bitch who thinks she knows everything, has essentially no sense of humor, and has had a stick up her ass so long she might as well be an over-primped scarecrow."

"Excuse me?" Blossom snapped, sitting up.

"You heard me," Brick muttered. Blossom clicked her tongue.

"Well, I'd rather be an over-primped scarecrow than a surly, pretentious, chain-smoking snake in the grass who wears clothes big enough to compensate for the inversely proportional size of my ego."

"Oh, hold up," Brick snarled. He pinched his cigar out and slipped it back into his coat. "How about you elaborate on the size of my ego? I've never heard complaints from you before…"

"Which one?" Blossom sneered. "Because I'd like to file a complaint for both."

"You bitch."

"Atrocious piece of dirt."

"Prissy-ass brown-noser."

"Temperamental, attention-seeking narcissist."

"Self-important, sweet-talking, wannabe tyrant."

"Superficial, conniving, aspiring prince of darkness."

By this time, Brick was somehow on top of her, popping the buttons off his shirt sentence by sentence. He smiled down at Blossom, who was trying very hard to keep the fuming pout on her face.

"And that's why I said never stop fighting me," he said.

Just then, Brick's shirt vibrated against Blossom's skin. She gasped, and Brick immediately grabbed her chest, to which she responded by kneeing him hard in the gut. Brick seethed in pain, then snatched his cell phone out of the breast pocket of his shirt. Blossom glared at him, unsure of whether to apologize or not. Brick hopped to the edge of the bed, pausing to rub the already-developing bruise near his hip bone, and then answered the phone.

"Kinda busy, Tomas, what?" Brick grimaced at the wall as he listened. Then, his expression lifted, his eyes wide and his jaw dropping.

"You can't be serious...? No, I know you wouldn't lie about this sh…Well, fuck, man! It's not my Goddamn fault the old bastard picked today to go! I'll be right there, okay? Ciao."

Brick then hurled the phone across the room, smashing it through the wall and out to the street a dozen stories below.

"Brick!" Blossom shrieked. "What— what are you—are you _insane_?"

Brick buried his face in his hands for a second. Blossom stared at him, furious, until she saw his back quiver ever so slightly. She sat up on her knees, trying to decide whether to touch him or not. Then, he inhaled sharply and slapped his hands on his knees. He turned to Blossom, his eyes redder than usual. He sniffed.

"You wanna know what's going on with me?" he asked. Blossom sat back a little. "The old man – The Don? Guerelli? Yeah, he's been sick. Hospital-sick."

"Oh," Blossom mumbled. She bit her lip. "Well, is he okay?"

"Not really," Brick said, shaking his head. "The Don's dead."

* * *

><p>Brick pulled his hair back into a tiny ponytail, sick of the infuriating strands poking at his face. He was irritable enough – no need for more stupid nuisances.<p>

He looked around the dark room, the usually hardened faces of his Family a portrait of grief, fear, and concern. On his left, the snarky, curly-haired advisor Tomas gnawed on his fingertips, while on his right, the jovial, Santa-like captain Marty blew his bulbous nose into a snot-soaked handkerchief. Brick's gaze moved to Frederick, the gangly, hook-nosed advisor with his face propped up by his hands, fingers laced, and the rest of his body fidgeting in his seat. His gaze then moved to an exhausted-looking soldier Michaela, to the thick-browed, weeping soldier Agostino, and finally, to the Don's own son Giuseppe. Unlike the others, he was stone-faced, staring straight down at the table, arms folded across his chest. Brick considered how well-trained this boy was – cold and emotionless, like a real Mafioso.

Suddenly, the door opened. The seven men turned to the door as the underboss, followed by his personal advisor and first-born son, stomped to his seat at the head of the table, an uncomfortably large smile on his face. Despite his rank, he was a notably short man, with a short ponytail (like Brick's, much to his dismay), black with two white stripes along his temples. He smelled strongly of whiskey and cheap cigars, so much so that considering the stench and his hair, the boys took to calling him "Skunk." To his face, though, they were forced to call the man Antonino "Tony" Alto. His brat they just called Sparky.

"Now, now, boys, let's save the tears for another time," Tony said cheerfully, allowing his son to usher him to his seat, pulling out and pushing in the chair. Sparky then took a seat next to his father, opened a small notebook and pen, and turned to him, as if waiting for the next command. Brick swallowed the acid in his throat.

"Now, I know it's a little soon for all this, but business is business," Tony said, wagging his finger at them. To this day, no one was quite sure why this jerk-off was underboss, but what the Don says goes. Then again, the Don was dead. And this here, the former underboss, was now the active Don.

Brick snorted.

"First things first," Tony started. "Funeral arrangements have been made for next Tuesday. Obituaries will go up in time for the Sundays, and… well… I guess that's it, huh?" Tony smiled and looked around the room. He was met with more than half a dozen faces of repressed rage. "Now, I know, boys – we're all gonna miss the Big Guy. But times are a-changin'! And we can't waste too much time grieving when we gotta… _rebuild our forces_, so t' speak."

"If you don't mind me," Giuseppe interrupted, his voice uncharacteristically monotone, "can we make this quick? I got a mother and two sisters to console."

"Fine, fine," Tony said, waving his hand. "That does it, then. As the newly-crowned Boss of the Guerelli family, this leaves my old position vacant. So, it is with great honor that I pronounce my own son, Fabio, as our new underboss."

"_Grazie, Papa! Grazie!"_ Sparky said, leaping out of his chair and latching onto his father. Tony hugged him back, then patted him on the head. Fabio nestled back into his seat, still bouncing with giddiness.

"Now that that's settled," Tony continued. "I'm keeping Tomas and Frederick as my _consigliari_, along with Marty as _capo_. But Mikey – I think I like you. I'm gonna promote you to _capo_."

"_Grazie_," Michaela said quietly, too tired to be more gracious.

"Agostino, I like you, too," Tony said, nodding at the soldier. "But I don't think you're quite ready, yet. And Giuseppe?"

"_Si,_" Giuseppe grunted.

"At your request," Tony started grandly, standing up and waving his hands. "I hereby announce… your retirement."

There was a deafening silence. Some of the men shifted in their seats, while Brick, the only one seemingly taken aback at this knowledge, openly gawked at Giuseppe.

"You can't be serious," Brick spat.

"_Scusi?_" Tony asked, squinting his eyes at Brick. The other men turned to Brick, some fearful, some silently grateful for the outburst.

"This is bullshit, Tony, and you know it!" Brick said, leaning across the table and pointing his cigar at the new boss.

"Bullshit?" Tony repeated. "Why do you say that, Fratellino?"

"Because we all know Sparky's gonna make a shit underboss, and we all know you don't deserve to be the head of this Family," Brick explained.

"Brick," Tomas hissed next to him, glancing fearfully at Tony.

"Oh, come on, Tomas, this is what we were all afraid of when the Don kicked the can," Brick looked at the other men – none of them made a move. Brick scoffed.

"Were you?" Tony questioned, unhindered by this knowledge.

"Yeah, we were," Brick retorted, though he narrowed his eyes at his should've-been comrades. "We all know Giuseppe here should be the boss now. Signore died before he could make it official. Come to think of it, Signore died a little _too soon,_ considering a few days ago they said his health was improving—"

"Fratellino," Giuseppe spoke, looking directly at Brick. Brick stared at him, pleading as best as he could with his eyes. "No."

"Giuseppe, fuck this!" Brick urged, kicking his chair back and smashing his cigar on the table. Giuseppe simply blinked at him, his expression stonier than ever. Brick seethed. He fell back into his seat.

"Well, Fratellino," Tony snickered, a small smile on his face. "I'm saddened by your sentiments. But – now let me get this straight – what is your place in this Family, anyway?"

"_Associato,_" Brick replied.

"You can't rank any higher, can you?"

"…No."

"_Perché?_"

"_No sono Siciliano,_" Brick replied quietly, starting to rip the smashed cigar into a pile of tobacco.

"So," Tony nodded his head. "Out of curiosity, since you are not Sicilian, and you will never rank any higher than an associate of this Family, do you really think I give a damn what you think of my reign?"

"I think you should give a damn about what the Family would do without me," Brick snapped, crushing the cigar remnants into a pile of mush.

"Well, if you think that, then maybe you'll consider my plans for you." Tony leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head. Brick tilted his head, only slightly curious.

"And what plan is that?"

"You see," Tony licked his lips. "I was thinking of, I don't know, growing our business, so to say. Broaden our prospects. Conquering new territory."

"Spit it out," Brick grumbled.

"I want to take over a new city," Tony finally said. "And I think you might be the guy to do it."

"Oh, really?" Brick challenged. "Where am I going? To the cornfields of Crown Point? The urban jungle of Gary? We already took over Hammond, Lansing, Cal City…"

"I was thinking less local and more… close to home."

Brick's lips parted ever so slightly. Tony stared at him, eyes twinkling.

"You want me to take over Townsville," Brick clarified, his voice only a few notches short of a whisper. The rest of the Family turned to him.

"_Si,_" Tony replied. Brick's eye twitched. He stared at the wooden table before him.

"Why? Why Townsville?" Brick demanded, his finger nails digging into the oak table.

"Why not?" Tony shrugged his shoulders. "Hot commodity nowadays. I mean, if you can take over Townsville, you can take over anything."

"You realize that Townsville is practically a fortress," Brick said, fully aware of where this conversation was going.

"_Si_."

"And you realize that it is so heavily guarded by the Powerpuff Girls, as well as my own brothers and my surprisingly adequate niece, that to even try _anything_ is both treacherous and suicidal."

"_Si._"

Brick paused, the heat burning behind his eyes.

"And if I refuse?"

"I don't think you will," Tony challenged. "Not if you don't want to lose your already-lowly position with this Family."

"…You fuck."

"Come now," Tony laughed. "Isn't that pretty little girlfriend of yours running for Mayor? I'm sure you can… use that to your advantage."

"My _little girlfriend_," Brick snickered, "happens to be the leader of the Powerpuff Girls. I can't wi—" Brick stopped himself. He seethed once more. "It's just _not_ a good idea to try anything against her."

"Well," Tony began, leaning forward and slapping his hands on the table, "I guess you're gonna have to decide where your loyalties lie. Because unless you take over that city, I don't think this Family needs you anymore."

Brick let go of the table, slivers of wood splintering his fingertips. His chest heaved, and the heat behind his eyes was so strong, he wasn't sure if it was just the lasers that wanted out. He finally looked up at the rest of the Family, each of them looking at him with a mixture of discomfort. Only Giuseppe, beyond the stone-face, looked remotely… sorry? Brick locked eyes with him for a moment, and then turned to Tony. He blinked.

"It's a shame you couldn't just put a bullet between my eyes, huh?" he asked.

"That it is," Tony agreed. "That it is."


	6. Chapter 5 :: Blackbird

**Chapter 5 – Blackbird**

Bubbles ran, her tiny feet smacking the pavement with each staggering step. Her lungs ached, thorns squeezing her chest, as she gasped for breath. She looked over her shoulder – _bad idea, bad idea, bad idea._A painful sob erupted from chest, and a handful of tears splashed her face. Before her stood the fiery ruins of Townsville, buildings collapsed, rubble littering the streets, and worst of all, bodies strewn everywhere. And all Bubbles could do was run, run as far away from the impending darkness behind her as possible, run because the remarkable weight of gravity kept her earthbound, run because she could not fight what she could not see.

And as luck would have it, a stone appeared before her toes just as she stepped forward. She tripped, stumbled, and fell, smacking her elbows onto the sidewalk. Her skin screamed as it scraped across the cement, and Bubbles clawed herself back onto her feet. Her legs quivered as she ran again, every step more wobbly than the last. She dashed around a jumble of crushed cars, making sure her eyes did not linger on the bloodied masses hanging from the shattered windows. She sniffed, and wiped her nose, her sleeve covered in dirt, tears, and blood.

She looked over her shoulder again. The darkness rolled after her, a tidal wave of emptiness looming faster and faster through the city. Bubbles screamed, words lost with all her reason.

The street somehow came to an end, and Bubbles swerved left, praying to herself another street would open again. Thankfully, after only another block, she turned right, heading away from the darkness once more. She looked back again – she shrieked. The darkness blanketed the world behind her, miles closer than before. Then, Bubbles' feet collided with something and she fell again, her head slamming into the concrete with a _thwap!_ Her eyes fluttered as she tried to push herself up. She tried to focus on the object that tripped her, the stars momentarily blinding her. Without thinking, she grabbed, trying to "see" the object by feeling it. It took Bubbles only a split second to realize it was a body, her fingers sliding across the Adam's apple of a neck. She moved her hand up across the chin, the parted lips, the round nose, the eyes, and she stopped, right at the hairline. Finally, her eyes blurred into focus, and, against her better judgment, she looked down at the body.

Bubbles whimpered.

Boomer's glassy eyes stared lifelessly up to the sky, his skin grayed with death, his blonde hair matted with blood. Bubbles choked and looked away, only to see the body of the Professor, his skin charred and most of his clothes melted onto his burnt skin. Bubbles tore her eyes away and there were her sisters, Blossom's limp body twisted into an unnatural position, Buttercup's severed straight down the middle. Bubbles cried out, and turned away. And there was Bridie's tiny body, her face bloodied to the point of disfiguration, her middle crushed flat.

Bubbles couldn't stop the weeping as she scuttled away from Boomer's body and cowered into herself. She buried her face into her hands, desperately shielding herself from the horrifying images. _Stop it!_She begged silently. _Please! Stop it! Stop it!_It was no use – in the darkness behind her eyes, the images cut into a montage of gore, an endless reel of horror starring the bloody faces of her loved ones. She dropped her hands and opened her eyes, the approaching darkness engulfing everything before her.

"_I HATE YOU!"_Bubbles wailed, hugging herself helplessly. "_GO! GO AWAY! I hate you so much…"_

The darkness came closer and closer. Bubbles sank to the asphalt, her body shaking so hard, she could no longer speak. She couldn't weep. She couldn't breathe. She just trembled, waiting for the darkness to overwhelm her. It came, sweeping over her like a gust of wind, punctuated with silence.

And then… birds.

Birds. She heard birds. Bubbles clung to herself, but she listened, the birds chirping over the soft swishing of grass. She gasped, inhaling the sweet smell of honeysuckle. Suddenly, she felt the familiar warmth of sunshine, and she quickly became aware of the blinding light beyond her eyelids. Her body relaxed a bit, but she stayed in position, not completely trusting the sensations.

"Are you okay?"

Bubbles' eyes opened. From her angle, she saw what looked like a small boy, wearing only a thin white frock, his dreamy, gray-blue eyes peering down at her past a fringe of dirty-blonde hair. She blinked.

"Are you okay?" the boy asked again. Bubbles suddenly felt a twinge of nostalgia, the slight whine in the boy's voice awfully familiar. Before she knew it, she was sitting up, staring aghast at the little boy. He stared back, his big, heavy-lidded eyes waiting for her to reply.

"Are you okay?" the boy asked once more, wringing his fingers shyly.

"Y-yes," Bubbles stammered, though she glanced over both her shoulders. She turned back to the boy.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You were crying," the boy replied, looking down at his hands. He paused to look at them. "And He made it dark."

"Yeah." A tear fell down Bubbles' cheek.

"I don't like him," the boy said looking up at her, the strength in his voice momentarily disturbing Bubbles.

"Me neither," she agreed, though her voice was mousier than she would prefer. For a moment, she admired the little boy's courage, not because of his help, but more because of the conviction of his feelings. Then… she wondered.

"Who—who are you?" Bubbles asked. The boy's eyebrows furrowed, and he looked away. He paused, lost in thought.

"I don't know," he replied honestly. He looked back at Bubbles, his expression still thoughtful. "Who are _you_?"

"Bubbles," Bubbles answered simply. "I thought… you knew." She didn't know why, but she figured an imaginary child in her dreams would probably know better. The boy continued looking at her, almost studying her. Then, his face softened.

"I want to sleep," he said.

"Me, too," Bubbles agreed with a big sigh. The boy nodded his head, and then took a few uneasy steps towards Bubbles. She suddenly thought, for some reason, that these were his first steps. She watched him as he approached her, knelt onto the grass next to her, and nuzzled up into her lap. Bubbles wrapped her arms around him, but she wasn't sure why.

"What are you doing?" she asked as the little boy curled up into the fetal position. He looked up at her, his eyes drooping.

"Going to sleep," he whispered.

"I…" Bubbles blinked at him. "I don't know you. My lap?"

"I'm supposed to sleep here." Then, the boy closed his eyes and immediately fell asleep. Bubbles gazed at him, her thoughts muddled by either confusion or exhaustion. Frustrated, she looked away, gazing at the tranquility around her. She was expecting it to turn very soon, waiting for the sun to eclipse, for the clouds to swirl black, for the grass to burst into flames. It didn't. Bubbles closed her eyes. Perhaps it _was_ safe. For now. She might as well embrace it.

Bubbles hugged the boy, ruffling the baby-soft fringe on his head. He looked calm, peaceful… and pretty cute! She smiled, her eyes drifting close. Darkness did eventually overwhelm her, but it was most definitely not the same as before.

Then, Bubbles opened her eyes again. She felt the warmth of sunshine once more, but this time, it came through the curtains of her bedroom. She sat up and looked around the room, gazing at the hand-built pine wardrobe, the matching side tables, the simple porcelain lamps on each table, the colorful pictures on the walls in front of her, the ivory bed sheets, and finally, the huddled mass of Boomer – breathing, alive – next to her. Bubbles sighed.

Then, the sickening sensation of nausea burned her throat. Bubbles clutched her stomach, forcing the acid back down. She tried to remember what she ate yesterday, if she ate something before bed. She then tried to remember if she was recently hit in the stomach, perhaps from some monster battle or something. But if that caused pain, it would've healed itself long before morning, as would any indigestion. She thought—

_Oh. Oh! OHHH._The little boy in her dreams. She looked down at her lap, vacant, save for her blankets. She wondered again. Another wave of nausea overwhelmed her, as if confirming her thoughts. She nodded her head. The little boy.

_I know who you are_.

Despite the nausea, Bubbles grinned. She clutched her middle once more, not for the nausea, but as if embracing, full-out hugging, the contents within.

"She is going to kill us," Butch said, peeking out the garage door at the endless line of men outside the house, most of them in various degrees of grunge and almost all of them carrying some type of guitar (also in various degrees of grunge).

"I don't care what Blossom thinks," Buttercup said, kicking her legs up on the folding table and leaning back in her rolling chair. "We are making a band, and we are having auditions today."

"Look at all these suckers," Butch laughed. "We got, like, all of Townsville's wannabe-rock stars lined up out there."

"Because we're hardcore," Buttercup scoffed. She grabbed a notebook and a pen off the table and clicked the pen open. "So let's get started, shall we?"

Butch complied, hitting the amp on his way to the table, and took the seat next to Buttercup. After a moment, Butch shouted for the first guy to audition. In walked a skinny, shirtless dude with long sandy-blonde hair, a bandanna around his forehead, and an obnoxious candy-apple red Gibson Flying V. He plugged it into the amp with a loud sizzle.

"Name?" Buttercup asked, remarkably business-like.

"Eddie," the man grunted.

"Alright, Eddie," Buttercup said with a nod. "Show us whatcha got."

Eddie nodded. Then, he turned around, facing the garage door. Butch and Buttercup exchanged similar looks of concern. Finally, the guitarist whizzed through an ear-splitting, staticky, and above all, terrible rendition of the middle riff from "You Really Got Me Now." Butch squeezed his eyes shut while Buttercup gritted her teeth. When Eddie finished, he spun back around and took a swaggering step forward.

"So," he grunted.

"Yeah, we'll call you," Buttercup said through a grimace, striking Eddie's name off the list.

And that was pretty much how the auditions went: wannabe after wannabe, some remarkably decent, most painfully bad, and only a handful even worth taking down their number. Once in a while they got another Eddie, though they referred to themselves as "Jimi" and "Carlos" and even one "Saul." After a few hours, Bridie ended up joining her parents, sitting Indian-style on the tool bench behind them. For this, Butch and Buttercup were grateful, as she almost immediately became the microphone for their feelings.

"So what'd'ya think?" asked a smarmy young high-schooler with side-swept bangs and the most perfect over-grown boy face. He nodded at Buttercup, blowing her a kiss. Buttercup's lip curled.

"That hurt my ears," Bridie said, covering the body parts in question.

"Yeah, I think you should finish school first," Buttercup said, scribbling the boy's named off the list. The boy clicked his tongue and stomped out of the garage. Buttercup fell face-first onto the table as Butch leaned back and placed a hand on his forehead.

"Long day, huh?"

Buttercup immediately sat up and grinned as Mitch Mitchelson sauntered into the garage, hands in his coat pockets and Sally slung over his shoulder. Butch sat up, too, arms folded tight across his chest.

"What a sight for sore eyes," Buttercup groaned, too tired to think of a less cliché way of saying hello.

"Any luck so far?" Mitch asked, leaning against the garage door. He glanced over his shoulder at the line of musicians along the sidewalk. "Because you still have at least another night of auditions."

"Aren't you already in a band?" Butch snapped suddenly. Buttercup wrinkled her nose at him, but nonetheless agreed.

"Yeah, what happened?" Buttercup asked curiously. "Or are you just visiting?"

"Mitch don't rock no more," Mitch laughed, shrugging his shoulders. "The wedding was our last gig."

"No way!" Buttercup exclaimed. "You guys were good!"

"They were okay," Butch retorted.

"But that means you need another band!" Buttercup sang, clicking her pen several times. "And you've come to the right place."

"Actually, we already have a guitarist," Butch said, forcing a half-hearted apologetic expression on his face. "Sorry, but you're S. O. L."

"Shut up, Butch," Buttercup snapped. She jotted Mitch's name down in the notebook and then looked back up at her friend. She grinned.

"Whatcha gonna play for me, dude?" she asked excitedly.

"I was prolly just gonna bust out some Clapton," Mitch said coolly, slinging Sally around into position and plugging her into the amp. With that, he went into a spot-on rendition of "Cocaine," vocals and all. Buttercup sat in her seat and grooved, mouthing along the words, Bridie bobbing her head behind her. Butch snorted, unimpressed. When he finished, Buttercup and Bridie applauded while Butch clicked his tongue.

"Most. Excellent," Buttercup commented, circling Mitch's name several times in her notebook.

"It was alright," Butch said.

"Hey, do you play anything else?" Buttercup asked curiously. "Because, like, that would be really convenient."

"Bass and drums," Mitch replied. "A little keyboard. Mostly Queen and Styx, though."

"_Only_ Queen and Styx?" Buttercup giggled. "Fuck it, you're in, man."

"Wait, hold on!" Butch cried out, turning to her. "I didn't agree to this."

"What the hell? He is the best we've seen," Buttercup said.

"So far," Butch added. He turned to Mitch and sneered. "I think you're _okay_. We'll call you _only_ if we don't find someone better. Which we probably will."

"Are you serious?" Buttercup screeched. "Stop being a fucking asshole, Butch!"

"Fuck you, you're acting like he's the best guitarist ever," Butch spat, looking away from the both of them.

"I never said he was the best guitarist ever, I just said he was the best we saw _all day_," Buttercup hissed. Then, she chuckled. "You're just jealous, anyway."

"Jealous?" Butch turned back to her. "Jealous of what? I can outplay this joker any day, any time, any place—".

"Um, I should go," Mitch said, slowly backing out of the garage, Sally already slung back over his shoulder.

"N-n-n-no! No! Don't leave!" Buttercup yelled, standing up. "Don't let this douchebag—" she shot a dirty look at Butch. "—chase you away. In fact, are you busy?"

"Not really," Mitch said with a shrug.

"Awesome," Buttercup exclaimed. "Bridie, go get Mitch a chair. He is part of the band, and he is going to help us choose the next band-mate."

"WHAT?" Butch roared.

"Dammit, Butch! Mitch is in the band or we're done! We will stop this band now."

Butch and Buttercup glowered at each other, Buttercup silently urging him to do his worst. Butch's nostrils flared with each furious breath. Suddenly, Mitch ambled up to the table. He held out his hand to Butch.

"Look, man," he said slowly. "You're a righteous beast with the ax, hands down. I mean you no competition. All I wanna do is jam with the best."

Butch slowly turned towards Mitch, his expression so fierce, any reasonable human being would fall to their knees. But, despite the lone bead of sweat on his brow, Mitch stood his ground, hand stretched out confidently. He stared back at Butch, a cool, tight smile on his face.

Then, Butch took Mitch's hand, and shook it.

Mitch blinked, shocked, and then broke into a grin. Buttercup released a heavy sigh and then reminded Bridie to get another chair. After a moment, Bridie came back and Mitch took the seat next to Buttercup, the two of them shaking hands, Butch grumbling to himself next to them. Finally, they continued the auditions.

As expected, then next hour or two of auditions was borderline torture, with absolutely no promising players. Thankfully, according to Bridie, the line was dwindling to a few dozen. Around seven, and after a grueling eight hours, Butch and Buttercup were ready to call it quits. Buttercup finally closed her notebook, threw the pen across the garage, and collapsed back into her seat. Butch sniffled and headed over to unplug the amp while Mitch yawned, arms stretched high. Bridie curled up in a ball, half-asleep.

"Aw, ya packin' up already?"

All four of them stopped. Buttercup shivered at the cold, slithering voice, the hairs on her neck standing on end. She gulped and looked up at the greasy-haired, green-skinned Ace. He stared over his classic, cat-eye sunglasses, smiling at them with that same, sly smirk that haunted Buttercup for almost two decades.

"I can't ever get rid of you, can I?" Buttercup growled. Suddenly, she felt two little arms cling to her side as Bridie latched herself onto her mother, staring fearfully at Ace. Buttercup was then sorely reminded of their history from last year, when Ace oh-so-politely kidnapped Bridie with the Bitch – erm, _Queen_ – of Spades.

"'Fraid not," Ace chuckled, removing his sunglasses and tucking them into his jacket. It was then that Buttercup noticed he had a dark green bass strapped to his back, one that looked uncomfortably similar to her own.

"You are _not_ auditioning, too, are you?" Butch snarled, ripping the cord so hard from the wall that the outlet cover came out with it.

"Actually," Ace said, swinging the guitar over his shoulder. "I was."

"The answer is no," Buttercup said, carefully slipping Bridie off her arm and silently reassuring her. Bridie grabbed Buttercup's handcuff instead and continued staring fearfully at Ace.

"Oh, you're _not_ gonna tell me you already found your band," Ace looked at Mitch, who shifted awkwardly in his spot, and smirked.

"No, but you are _not_ getting in on this," Buttercup said shortly.

"I think you should at least let me try out," Ace insisted, looking at Buttercup pleadingly. "You won't be disappointed!"

"The woman said no," Butch sneered. "And I think you of all people should know better than to fuck with her."

"Hey," Ace called after Buttercup, ignoring Butch. "I thought we was cool now."

Buttercup stared at him, chin raised high. Butch turned to her and made an expression as if asking what Ace said was true. Buttercup squeezed Bridie's hand reassuringly.

"Yes," Buttercup replied carefully, eying Butch. "But that does not mean I am cool with you being around here or my daughter."

"Hey, I am no longer associated with them Royals," Ace retorted. "And now that I'm not, I ain't doing nothing with my life nowadays. Good or bad. And since youse guys got a band and are looking for members, I figured I'd give it a shot."

"We said _no_," Butch repeated, spitting out the last word.

"Please, Buttercup?" Ace literally begged, ignoring Butch once more and giving Buttercup those eyes that she knew too well. Buttercup looked away, gazing at a very befuddled Mitch.

"Please?"

"If I let you audition, will you leave right away?" Buttercup said quickly, also ignoring Butch's exasperated expression.

"Of course," Ace agreed, nodding his head graciously.

"Fine," Buttercup sighed, falling back into her chair. She nodded at Butch to plug the amp back in and then allowed Bridie to hop into her lap. Butch made a dramatic huff before plugging the amp in and leaning against the wall, arms across his chest. Mitch shrugged and waited for Ace to start.

Ace took a moment to make sure his guitar was tuned, the four thick strings humming one by one through the speaker. Then, he played. He started the opening riff to Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Snow," his long fingers dancing along the frets with ease. Buttercup felt the acid work its way up her throat as Ace played the whole song… beautifully. A minute in, he was already the best bassist they had heard the entire night (which wasn't much, honestly, but still). On her left, Mitch was nodding his head to the beat, his fingers twitching to the melody, while Butch, against all instincts, tapped his foot. Then, most surprising of all, she felt Bridie relax on her lap. Buttercup exhaled a shuddering breath, willing the sickness back down her throat. When Ace finished, he immediately unplugged his guitar, saluted, and headed out the garage door.

"Wait," Buttercup called after him, closing her eyes in submission. Ace looked over his shoulder, and Buttercup looked at Mitch and Butch. Mitch gave her a knowing smile, and Butch gave her an irritated, but equally knowing look. Buttercup sniffled.

"Bridie, I think you should make the decision," Buttercup said, wrapping her arms around her daughter and giving her a squeeze. Bridie immediately started nibbling her fingernails.

"Well," she started, her voice slightly muffled behind her hands. Then, she put her hands down and gave Ace a daring look, perfectly emulating the same look both her parents could make. "If he tries anything again, I'mma beat the stuffing outta him."

"But is he in the band?" Buttercup asked.

"I say he's in."

"Welcome to the band, Ace!" Buttercup said, gesturing at him, trying her damnedest not to through a hissy fit.

"Thought so," Ace said with a grin.

"If you start any shit," Butch jabbed his finger into Ace's chest. "I will personally rip your guts out."

"Deal!" Ace agreed cheerfully.

"Hey, I think we have an actual band now," Mitch said happily.

"I guess so," Buttercup grumbled. Bridie hopped off her lap and then zipped inside, still not exactly ready to accept Ace's presence. "Looks like this is it, guys."

"_What_ is this?" a familiar voice rang from the driveway. Ace, Butch, Buttercup, and Mitch turned to see Blossom hover into the garage, her face torn between apprehension and bewilderment. She clutched her purse and stared directly at Ace, her eyes glancing at Mitch only once or twice.

"Blossom," Buttercup started, hopping over the table and grabbing Mitch and Butch by their sleeves. She brought them to Ace, and she swung her arms on Butch and Mitch's shoulders. "This is the band."

"The band," Blossom repeated, one eyebrow raising. Buttercup nodded, while Butch glanced at Ace and Mitch, his eyes tiny slits.

"Okay, I can understand Mitch, but… you?" Blossom gaped at Ace.

"Yeah, well," Buttercup mustered making a face just as confused as Blossom's. A minute passed, and then Blossom snorted a single laugh.

"You know what? I'm just gonna let this one work itself out," she laughed before rolling her eyes and drifting inside.

"Thanks, Red," Buttercup sighed. "Appreciate it."

* * *

><p><em>Thwap.<em>

Blossom inhaled sharply, waking herself up. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and glanced at the clock. _4:36 AM_. Blossom sniffled. She threw the blanket over her head, wiggling herself back into a comfortable position.

_Thwap._

Blossom sat up, the blanket falling off her face. Her eyes open just a slit, she turned to the three circle windows. The moon shone through the glass, casting its cold blue light onto the floor, the last one on her bed. Then—

_Thwap._

A tiny pebble smacked against the window and disappeared right away. Blossom groaned. She slid off the bed, gathered herself with her pink blanket, and waddled over to the window. She peered down to the front yard below, spotting a fiery-haired figure staring up at her. Blossom rolled her eyes and jimmied up the window. She ducked her head out.

"Brick, this better be really good if you're throwing rocks at _my_ window at four thirty in the morning," she said, her voice just above a whisper.

"Yeah, well, come downstairs and open the door," Brick called up, the volume of his voice matching hers. Blossom ducked back inside, closing the window afterwards. She tossed her blanket back on her bed and grabbed her silky red robe. She wrapped it around herself, and, making sure not to bother her slumbering niece in the corner, silently drifted out of the room, down the stairs, and to the front door. She opened it and gave Brick a very nasty look before letting him in.

"I would've texted this," Brick hissed, hovering straight to the armchair and collapsing into the seat. "But, you know, I kinda destroyed my phone the other night, so…" Blossom quietly shut the door and took a seat on the couch near him.

"What's going on?" she asked, hugging warmth into her arms.

"Like I said," Brick sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Guerelli's dead. Funeral's next Tuesday."

"I'm so sorry, Brick," Blossom said, her eyes sparkling at him. "I… I don't know what to tell you."

"There's nothing you can do," Brick grumbled coldly, gripping the armrests for a moment. "But that's it, really. I'm just letting you know. And I'm reminding you my phone's dead, so don't expect anything from me for a while."

"I understand," Blossom said, still staring at him. Despite their relationship, Blossom figured it would be best to leave him be. She couldn't remember the last time she had to console someone like this, anyway, let alone someone like Brick. She figured wisely, though, as Brick stood up and hovered back over to the door, ready to go. Blossom followed and stopped next to him, leaving at least a foot of space. He turned around, giving her a sour look.

"That was pretty much it," he said. "I have nothing else to say right now."

"Okay," Blossom nodded. She gave him a small smile and gestured him out the door. He opened the door and floated out, staring off and chewing on his bottom lip. He turned back to Blossom, the sorry smile still on her face.

"Try to have a good night," Blossom said, leaning forward for a split second before pulling back.

"Yeah, I'll try," Brick sighed. They stared at each other a moment, Blossom leaning forward a second once again, and Brick pursing his lips. Then, Blossom nodded and backed out to shut the door.

With that, Brick spun around, stopped the door with his foot, and pulled Blossom to him. She hugged him tight around the neck, as he tried very hard to ignore the burning behind his eyes. Nearby, some crickets chirped, as some birds rustled in a tree in the next yard. Brick and Blossom pulled away, Blossom holding his face in her hands. He didn't look at her, his eyes staring past the patio below them. They didn't say anything – what was there to say? Instead, Blossom kissed him once on the forehead. Brick's eyebrow furrowed. Blossom rolled her eyes and gently lifted his face up, so his eyes would finally meet hers. Brick swallowed. Hard.

"Thanks."

Blossom nodded. They kissed. The crickets chirped again, and the birds rustled once more in the tree. Finally, Brick pulled away and took off, his red blaze gone in a blink. Blossom sighed and hugged herself, feeling cold. After a second, she sighed, turned around, and headed back inside.

* * *

><p>The phone rang, the ringtone blaring a high-quality song by Sting, one of Nancy's favorites, but not at five-something in the morning. She awakened, squeezing her eyes shut, as if that would muffle the ear-splitting song. Without opening her eyes, she reached over and smacked her phone, silencing the call. She pulled her phone onto her bed and after a very long moment of consideration, her curiosity got the better of her and she opened her eyes. She glared at the number on the phone: <em>Private.<em>And it wasn't a call, but a text message. Nancy blinked. She poked the screen, opening the message:

_Check your mail._

Nancy sat up, her eyes glued to the phone. Then, she dropped the phone on her bed and leapt over to the window. She peeked through the blinds, trying – and failing – to see the front door. Irritated, she grabbed her phone and hurried downstairs to the living room to see a large manila envelope carefully placed in the mail slot on the front door. Nancy stared at it for a second before peeking out the window near the door. She saw her bright green Porsche parked in the driveway, the perfectly-trimmed bushes below the windowpane, and her freshly-mowed lawn sprinkled with morning dew. Otherwise, the coast was clear. She turned back to the envelope and very carefully, tip-toeing towards the door, swiped the envelope from the slot. She shuffled to her plush leather loveseat and tapped the nearby lamp on.

Nancy examined the envelope, feeling for any unusual lumps, shaking it, even sniffing it. Then, she slid her fingernail under the flap, unsticking the seal, and reached into the envelope. She pulled out three items: one short, typed letter, and two photographs. She read the letter first:

"_To Miss Fox,_

_We figured you would find these photographs of interest. Congratulations on your incoming promotion."_

Nancy searched for a signature, to no avail. She shrugged her shoulders and then turned her attention to the photographs.

Then, she gasped. She gawked at the photographs, holding them close to her face and scrutinizing for any sign of tampering or photo-editing. Nope – these photos were real. And these were _originals_. Nancy laughed with astonishment.

She would _definitely_ get promoted for this.


	7. Chapter 6 :: Hard to Live In the City

**Chapter 6 – Hard to Live (In the City)**

Bubbles slipped out of bed, trying her best not to wake Boomer. She checked the time: _7:24 AM._ She sighed, and then winced at the rumbling in her stomach. She floated out of the bedroom and into the tiny hallway of their apartment. The sunlight glowed through the cotton-white curtains of the single window. Bubbles hovered to the window, squinting her eyes as she peeked outside. It was a lovely morning in Townsville Park: joggers trotted down the pathways, a man with a briefcase tipped his hat at them on his way to work, and a smiling old man tossed the rest of his muffin to some hungry pigeons. Bubbles grinned. This was the perfect place for her and Boomer to start their lives together. A humble one-bedroom, two-bath in a townhouse just outside the park, with a view that woke her up every morning with its simple beauty.

That is, until another monster crashed its way into the scene during its usual commute downtown.

Bubbles sniffed. Luckily, the scene had stayed in pristine condition for that one moment. But now that she thought of it, Bubbles spun around and floated into the little kitchen around the corner. She checked a color-coded printed sheet on the fridge – The Schedule, or more specifically, the schedule Blossom created for the family to divvy up the crime-fighting every week. With all three girls, plus Bridie, Butch, and Boomer, up for defending the city, a schedule was necessary. Thankfully, Blossom was rather kind when making them, usually giving each member two or three days off a week, one day for back-up. Today, Bubbles was totally off. She allowed herself a quiet cheer, then scanned the rest of the schedule. Boomer, Buttercup, and Blossom were on duty today with Butch on-call. To that, Bubbles grumbled. She really needed to talk to Buttercup.

Then, she reconsidered. Maybe Buttercup wasn't the best person to talk to right now. Bubbles could already hear Buttercup's teasing. She sighed. She then decided to try the next best person. After a quick meal and change of clothes, Bubbles snuck out the front door and headed off to see Butch.

"Blossom, I really don't wanna fight today," Buttercup whined as she threw the clock a very nasty look. Blossom rolled her eyes. She took her and her sister's cups of coffee and placed them in the sink. She glanced at the time:_7:55 AM_. Blossom pulled out her cell phone and tapped Boomer's number. It rang once, twice, and then stopped. Blossom took the ignore as a sign he was awake and headed to the door. She turned back to Buttercup.

"Ready for rounds?" she asked.

"Never," Buttercup groaned.

"Alright, let's go," Blossom said before heading outside into the brisk morning, holding the door open for Buttercup. Buttercup snorted and grudgingly kicked the chair back, floating out the door.

"Ha ha, you're on duty," Butch's voice echoed from the living room.

"Shut up!" Buttercup roared, and slammed the door shut.

Butch chuckled from his spot on the couch where he lay on his back, one hand behind his head, the other pointing a remote at the big screen TV. From the window, he could see a pink and green streak meet up with a deep blue streak heading downtown. Butch grinned, and then nestled into his spot, allowing a loud burp from his throat. He patted his stomach.

"Damn, it feels good to be off," he sighed.

Then – a knock at the door.

"What the fuck," Butch grumbled. He got up and hovered to the door, putting on his best 'what-the-hell-do-_you_-want' face. He opened the door.

"Oh. Hi, Bubbles," Butch said. Bubbles looked up at him with her usual bright face.

"Hey, Butch," Bubbles said, her expression faltering a bit. Butch stared at her.

"You know, you lived here, like, two weeks ago, and you still knocked?" Butch commented, stepping out of the way and gesturing her in.

"Because I don't live here anymore," Bubbles said floating past him inside. Butch shut the door behind him and Bubbles turned to him. "Besides, I'm here to see you."

"Me?" Butch looked around, as if she could possibly talking to someone else. He looked back at her, narrowing his eyes.

"Why do you need—"

"Will you go to the pharmacy with me?" Bubbles asked, sucking in her lips afterwards.

"...Why?" Butch scratched his head.

"Because," Bubbles started slowly. "I need someone... to go to the _pharmacy_ with me... to pick up a thing or two."

Butch's cheek twitched. Bubbles sighed.

"Buttercup is on duty, and you're the only person who might be able to help," Bubbles explained, her hands falling to her middle. Butch's eyebrows rose. He made a face.

"...Can't you get that girly stuff by yourself?"

"Butch!" Bubbles shrieked, causing Butch to leap backwards and smash his shoulders into the wall. "I have to go to the _pharmacy_ and pick up some _things_ because I might have a tiny, little,baby_problem!_ _You_ are the only person here right now who can _help_ me!_Okay?"_

Bubbles glowered down at Butch, who was literally cowering in the corner. He stared at her for a moment, mouth agape. Then, his expression fell. He blinked. Finally, he chuckled.

"Oh!"

"Oh," Bubbles said, nodding her head. She held out her hand and helped Butch to his feet.

"Right," Butch said, glancing at Bubbles' stomach then back to her face. "Let me just, um, get ready to go."

* * *

><p><em>FWOOMP!<em>

The monster spun, his great claws crumbling the asphalt beneath him. A flash of green – Buttercup skidded across the street, crouching low and grinding herself to a halt. A split-second later, she took off towards the beast, her feet grazing the cement before she catapulted off a car hood and smashed full-force into the monster's side. It heaved, and a sickening groan gurgled out of its throat. Buttercup smirked before spiraling away, quickly considering her next attack.

Blossom soared above, calculating all the monster's weak points. He was, of course, huge, a devilish hybrid of several dinosaurs: the thick-skinned body of a stegosaurus, the sharp claws of a raptor, the single horn of a triceratops, and to top it off, the piercing jaws of a tyrannosaurus rex. It roared, a thunderous rumble matched with a screeching falsetto. Blossom winced, then blasted the monster in the throat. The monster gasped, his terrible roar broken into a tiny wheeze. Blossom smiled and went back to surveying the scene.

Nearby, Boomer circled the monster, scorching it with one long blazing-hot laser. It whimpered, curling into itself. Boomer zoomed away, spun back around, and rocketed back, slamming his foot into the back of the monster's head. It stumbled, momentarily confounded.

"Nice one, Boomer!" Blossom called above him. They exchanged triumphant looks, and Boomer sped off to fight some more. Blossom had to admit: he had become a formidable teammate. She would congratulate her leadership skills, but she had a feeling it had more to do with a certain blond sister of hers. Or perhaps a more confident opinion of himself. Or both.

"Oh, please!" Buttercup jeered a few yards off. She gave Boomer a disapproving look. "You fight like a girl!"

"Hey, Buttercup!" Boomer called back. Buttercup turned around, staring one eyebrow raised at him. Boomer readied himself in mid-air, took a deep breath, and blasted himself into the monster, leaving a tremendous, sizzling, Boomer-shaped bruise on its skin. A long groan erupted from the monster, and a great whoosh and crash later, he was down. Boomer floated back up to the girls. He gave Buttercup a quick salute.

"Who's a girl now?"

Buttercup immediately exploded into an indignant rage, criticizing everything Boomer had done throughout the battle. Blossom rolled her eyes at her sister while silently praising her brother-in-law for a job well done. Boomer politely listened to Buttercup's insults, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

The three landed on the street below them. As usual, a crowd of civilians gathered round them, and Blossom quickly considered one of her classic post-monster victory speeches. The citizens buzzed with a hushed excitement, different than the usual gratuitous praise but not unheard of. Blossom stepped forward and cleared her throat.

"It's never a problem, Townsville!" she announced grandly. "We're just doing our duty to the city."

Then, the hush continued. The whispers grew less excited and more concerned, gossipy even. Blossom's eyebrows rose. She glanced around at the crowd, most of them looking curious, but more importantly, most of them looking at her. Blossom huffed.

"Did I miss something?"

"Blossom," Buttercup's voice sounded behind her. Blossom turned around to see her sister and Boomer, gaping jaws dropped at a newspaper. Blossom shrugged her shoulders and glanced back at the crowd. Now that she thought of it, almost all of them had newspapers. She turned back to Buttercup and Boomer.

"Guys, what the—"

"What the hell is this?" Buttercup ripped the newspaper out of Boomer's hands and held the front page up for Blossom to see. Blossom rolled her eyes. She stepped forward and snatched the newspaper out of Buttercup's hands… and gasped.

Blossom was never one to faint. She rarely ever felt sick, she couldn't remember the last time she felt dizzy (aside from maybe after a battle), and any case of upset stomach was almost always related to bad food. But right now, as if struck by a crippling disease, Blossom felt the world momentarily turn. A sourness burned her throat, bells clanged in her ears, and she probably would've stumbled had she not been firmly planted on the ground. All of this was matched with a powerful surge of rage, mostly at herself for feeling so cliché, but also at the horrifying sight before her: right on the front page, "Blossom Caught Red-Handed," with an enormous full-color picture of none other than her and Brick in a tight embrace.

"That's totally 'shopped, right?" Buttercup asked, her voice quivering with repressed laughter. "I mean, that's a really good editing job if it is."

Blossom continued staring at the train wreck on the page. In addition to the rage and illness, she felt awfully naked. Exposed. Or, as the words read, "caught." After an uncomfortably long pause, Blossom handed the newspaper back to Buttercup, who, along with Boomer, stared at her waiting for her to speak.

"Miss Utonium! Miss Utonium!"

Blossom whirled around to see a young, chipper journalist, pen and pad in hand, scuttling up to her. Blossom's face morphed into a cold, blank expression.

"Miss Utonium, I have to ask: are those photos of you and Brick Fratellino real?"

Blossom didn't move. She took a few long, steadying breaths, the tension around her almost suffocating. She finally turned to Buttercup and Boomer, the former with a hopeful, expectant grin, the latter frowning at her and rubbing the back of his neck. Blossom sighed. She turned back to the journalist.

"You want to know if those pictures of me and Brick are real?" Blossom clarified slowly. The journalist nodded his head. Blossom closed her eyes.

"...Yes. Those pictures are real."

The crowd's simultaneous gasp was so loud, no one heard Buttercup swear, or Boomer inhale sharply, or the journalist drop his pad of paper. And right away, the crowd became so riotous, nobody saw Blossom give one last furious sob before rocketing off into the sky. For this she was thankful, because after that moment, she knew _everyone_ was going to be paying a lot of attention to her.

* * *

><p>Blossom hovered over the entrance of her campaign headquarters, blinded by the flashing cameras. She growled, and shot forward, the sea of photographers parting just enough to allow her to land before spewing waves of questions at her. <em>"Why did you lie about your relationship with Brick?" "How do you think this is going to affect your candidacy?" "Are you going to drop out of the race?"<em>

"No comment," Blossom muttered, shoving her way into the building. She somehow squeezed herself through the glass doors and immediately locked the door behind her. Blossom zoomed off into the main conference room – and stopped. Her entire committee stood around a huge television screen, wearing various expressions of concern, all staring at a blown-up picture of her and Brick. Blossom gulped.

"_Well, Jimmy, it looks like you were right – our analysts discovered that these picture of mayoral candidate Blossom Utonium with alleged gangster Brick Fratellino_are_the real deal. Published this morning in the Townsville Today, Blossom Utonium—"_

_"_Blossom," one of the campaign officers said quietly, taking a seat near Blossom. "What's going on?"

"I need to think about this," Blossom said, standing up. "I'm sorry, everyone."

With that, Blossom floated into her office, shutting the door behind her. She bee-lined for the windows and dropped the curtains. No need for more pictures now. She turned around and dragged her feet to her desk. She collapsed into her seat, immediately burying her face in her arms.

For the first time, perhaps ever, Blossom's thoughts were completely blank. She had no idea how she was going to fix this, what to say, what to do... all she could do was feel. She felt ashamed, exposed. And she felt angry, laser-hot tears burning her eyes, with the circumstances, with that Fox, with... herself. Blossom took a deep, shuddering breath, and smoothed the damp strands of hair out of her face.

"I have to say…"

Blossom jumped. She looked up to see Brick next to the door, gazing at the front page of a newspaper.

"…were it not for the circumstances, this is actually a pretty good picture of us."

Blossom's stomach curdled.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

"Same reason you are, toots," Brick replied, tossing the newspaper into a nearby garbage bin and sidling over. He took a seat in front of her. Blossom clutched the desk between them, and swallowed the dry lump in her throat.

"How did you get through the sharks out there?"

"Did you forget we can become invisible?" Brick laughed. Blossom nodded to herself.

"So," Brick started, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling. He sucked in a breath of air. He looked back at Blossom. "We knew this would happen."

Blossom looked away, a pained expression on her face. She folded her arms across her chest. "I really hoped that it wouldn't."

"Really?" Brick spat. "You didn't think that eventually _someone_would find out?"

"No, I just…" Blossom closed her eyes. Her brain still wasn't functioning quite properly. "I don't know, Brick. I really don't."

"That's interesting," Brick snickered. "Blossom Utonium doesn't know something."

"Excuse me?" Blossom huffed, finally turning back to him. "I'm sorry if I'm a bit flustered right now. Unlike you, my job and my very reputation are currently compromised by my personal life. I think I'm entitled to be a bit uncertain at the moment."

"Oh, and my life isn't compromised?" Brick sat up, pointing to himself. "Did you forget that everyone knowing about our relationship affects _both_ of us? Or is this all about you?"

"And how exactly does it affect you, Brick?" Blossom demanded. "What, do other Families now know that you're sleeping with a politician? Does that really affect your job and reputation? I would've thought you would be praised for such behavior. Isn't that how the Mafia works?"

"You know I fucking hate it when you call it the Mafia," Brick seethed. "And for your information, we don't exactly like our connections to be publicized, thanks."

"Oh, so I'm a connection?" Blossom asked, leaning forward.

"Well, yeah," Brick replied matter-of-factly. "We're connected one way or another, right?"

"Well," Blossom sniffed. "I'm glad our relationship was merely for the benefits. The sex must have been a good perk."

"…I didn't say that," Brick hissed, narrowing his eyes.

"You just said I was a connection," Blossom said, her voice quivering. "A link in your network. It was all just business, right?"

"I didn't say that, either," Brick barked. "You're really twisting shit around."

"Then what are you saying?" Blossom demanded. "How _does_ this all affect you, Brick? How _do_ you feel about everyone knowing about us?"

"I—" By now Brick was on his feet. His mouth hung for a moment, and then he closed it, pursing his lips in the process. He sighed. "It doesn't matter how I feel. Not to you."

"You're right," Blossom agreed. "It doesn't. Especially if _my_ feelings don't matter to _you_."

"For fuck's sake, I didn't say—" Brick stopped again. He snorted. Blossom merely stared up at him, her lip trembling. They stared at each other for a moment, much longer than either of them were comfortable with. Then, Blossom blinked, her eyes suddenly glazing over. She opened her mouth to speak. Brick drew in a long breath. He nodded and spoke before she could.

"It's over."

"Yes, it is."

Brick winced. His throat seized up, his next breath coming out a strangled grumble.

"I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding a new connection," Blossom said darkly. Brick fumed.

"So that's what you seriously think we were, huh?" he said.

"Unless you can say otherwise?" Blossom stared at him, waiting for a retort.

"…No," Brick replied. "Can you?"

Blossom's eyes moved down to his shirt. She sniffled. He was wearing the same black button-up from the other night. She suddenly remembered the weight of the cloth, the heavy cotton dragging her wrists to the bed. She then remembered how warm it was, how it smelled of sweet cigar smoke, how it was too large but so comfortable, how he stared too long when she wore it… Blossom looked back at him.

"No."

Brick paused a beat, and then nodded his head. Without another word, he turned away and floated towards the door. Then, halfway there, he stopped. He chuckled before turning around and zipping back to Blossom. He pulled out his wallet, fiddled through the pockets, and finally tossed several large bills in front of her. Blossom stared at him. Brick spoke, his voice ringing with an uncharacteristic tone.

"Pleasure doing business with you."

A flash of red, the shattering of a sky light, and he was gone. Blossom gazed at the money before her. There had to have been at least a grand or two – a relatively small amount, in the scheme of things. The message hit her right in the chest. Blossom made a disgusted noise and scooted away from her desk.

Then, without any hesitation, she wept.

* * *

><p>Brick landed on the pavement, just short of the pool of paparazzi. He felt a crumbling beneath his feet, his rage chiseling his body into the cement. Behind him, he heard a photographer gasp and hurry over.<p>

"It's him! It's Brick! Mr. Fratellino! _Mr. Fratell—"_

The photographer choked, Brick's hand clasped firmly around his throat and Brick's face an inch from his.

"You're dead."

Brick slammed the guy into the sidewalk, the sound of almost an entire skeleton shattering against stone. With a quick, agonizing breath, the guy passed out. The other photographers stepped back as Brick turned his fiery gaze towards them.

"You're _all_ dead."

Brick stomped one foot and exploded into the air, leaving a crater and a menagerie of several injured bodies where the street once was.

* * *

><p>Butch knocked on the bathroom door.<p>

"Are you done yet?" he asked, rolling his eyes up to ceiling. Bubbles had been in the bathroom for literally hours, doing God-knows-what. It was almost 3 o'clock, for Chrissakes. Honestly, he probably should've been more understanding, but that would take a bit more shit than Butch had to give. He sighed. Okay, maybe he was just really impatient right now. Maybe. He knocked on the door again.

"Seriously, Bubbles, it doesn't take this long to—"

The door opened and Bubbles stared at him, an inscrutable expression on her face.

"_Weeeeeell_?" Butch asked, adding an octave to the syllable. Bubbles sucked her lips in. Butch nodded at her expectantly.

"It looks like I'm—"

_CRASH!_

"TV!" Buttercup roared as she burst through the front door, Boomer hovering several yards behind her. "TV! TURN ON THE TV! RIGHT NOW! RIGHT NOW! NEWS! WE HAVE TO WATCH THE NEWS!"

Buttercup leapt onto the couch and grabbed the remote. She punched the buttons, turning on the television and switching to the Townsville news. Bubbles gave Butch an exasperated look, and then led him into the living room. Around the corner, she heard a pounding and then another door slam open.

"What? What is it?" The Professor demanded, tearing the goggles off his eyes and squinting at the television. He grunted, then reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his eyeglasses. He put them on and turned back to the TV. He scratched his thin, salt-and-pepper hair.

"You're not going to believe it," Buttercup warned, nestling into her spot as Butch and the Professor took a seat on either side of her. Bubbles floated to Boomer, and the two hovered behind the couch as the five glared at the TV.

"_Today, recent pictures were discovered of mayoral candidate and Powerpuff leader Blossom Utonium with alleged gangster Brick Fratellino, one showing them embracing, the other with them kissing."_

As the news anchorwoman Sally announced them, the pictures faded onto the screen. Butch, Bubbles, and the Professor each emitted some type of noise, Butch's more shocked, Bubbles' worried, and the Professor's concerned. Buttercup turned up the volume.

_"The pictures were first published this morning in Townsville Today in an article by head journalist Nancy Fox. Since then, nearly every media outlet in the city has their hands on them. The skeptics were immediately wary, considering past photo-manipulations attempting to connect the two. But after today's battle with another monster downtown, Miss Utonium herself confirmed the evidence._

_"We now turn to Miss Utonium at her campaign headquarters with an official statement."_

The picture cut to Blossom, surrounded by the photographers and journalists. She appeared perfectly composed, her wardrobe neat, her hair tidy, and her face emotionless. She took a deep breath, her lips pursing a little, and finally began her speech.

_"Today, candid photos were released of me with alleged criminal and former Rowdyruff Boy Brick Fratellino,"_Blossom paused, her nostrils flaring a beat_. "As candidate for mayor and a sworn protector of the city of Townsville, it is my duty to be frank and honest with you. Yes, the pictures released are indeed real. As such, this means that yes, Mr. Fratellino and I were seeing each other."_

The crowd exploded, cameras popping and journalists shouting their questions. Blossom held up her hand as her expression dropped. She blinked several times, her eyes starting to glitter. She sniffled.

_"I can't begin to tell you how ashamed I am. My relationship with him was irresponsible, questionable, childish... It was a mistake. A mistake that has cost me not my candidacy, but your trust, something I would never wish to squander._

_"The relationship is officially over, and any damage done will be attended to. I offer my sincerest apologies for everything: I apologize for the false statements. I apologize for deceiving you all. I hope that with the best course of action, I can regain your trust as a candidate, as a protector of the city, and above all, as a fellow citizen of Townsville."_

Blossom nodded at the crowd, and then stepped back into the building. After a shot of the crowd banging on the door for more, the camera cut back to Sally. Next to her, news anchor Jimmy was smiling triumphantly.

_"Well, after all the scandalous business, I guess we could accept Blossom's apologies,_" he quipped with a hearty laugh. Sally chuckled, her nose wrinkling up in a sneer.

_"But after all the lies, do you think she stands a chance in this election anymore?"_ she asked.

_"I don't know, Sally. To be honest with you, I think she'll drop out by Friday!"_

_"Perhaps the Mayor won't be retiring after all!"_

To that, Jimmy and Sally burst into laughter, only to be cut short by Buttercup flipping the TV off.

"I can't believe it," Bubbles said softly. "All this time?"

"You know what I can't believe?" Butch said, looking to the side. "How the hell did we not figure it out?"

"Maybe we weren't paying attention?" Boomer suggested.

"Yeah, well, _I_ had a feeling the whole time," Buttercup said, leaning back into Butch's lap. "I mean, she used to come home late and text all night. I saw her."

"Buttercup, you don't know shit," Butch jibed, pushing her off his lap.

"Well, I will say I had no idea myself," the Professor said, removing his glasses and wiping them on his lap coat. After a quick glance in the lamplight, he placed them back on his face. "But I will also say that I'm not surprised."

"Which part?" Buttercup demanded. "That Brick and Blossom were getting it on, or that she's been lying about it to everyone?"

"I'm personally fond of Brick," the Professor said. "I'm not surprised to see that Blossom was quite fond of him, too. Yes, she kept their relationship a secret, but she had good reason."

"Oh, please," Buttercup snapped. "This just means she's just as bad as the rest of us."

"Glad to know what you think, Buttercup."

All of them turned to see Blossom hovering in the doorway, arms folded across her chest. Buttercup immediately leapt over Butch and the couch and zoomed over to her sister.

"What the hell, Blossom? Why didn't you tell us? Don't you trust us?"

"I really don't want to talk about it anymore," Blossom said, guiding Buttercup back.

"Ha!" Butch laughed. He pointed at Blossom. "You've been banging my brother this whole time. _You're just like us!_"

_"_Butch! Buttercup!" The Professor snapped. The two in question turned to him, glaring at him. "Blossom said she didn't want to talk about it anymore."

"But she's a liar!" Buttercup gestured to Blossom. "Do you know what that means? She's on our level now. Miss Perfect isn't so perfect after all."

"Really, guys?" Boomer chipped in, giving his brother and Buttercup a nasty look. "You're being really immature."

"Oh, since when did you get the balls the tell us off?" Buttercup growled. Butch gave Boomer a look to show his agreement with Buttercup.

Boomer seethed, his hand clutching Bubbles' arm. "Buttercup, I really don't—"

"Hey!"

All of them turned back to Blossom.

"Look," she started. "As I've said a number of times now, yes, Brick and I were in... some sort of a relationship."

"Banging," Butch simplified. Blossom huffed and continued.

"We were _dating_, I guess. I didn't tell anyone because it was just between him and me. It wasn't going anywhere anyway and it was going to end eventually. We just needed a catalyst, I suppose. Now, it's over. It doesn't mean anything – it never did, and it never will. But now that it made me look like just another scandalous politician, I'm going to have to clean up the mess I put myself into."

"And just how are you going to do that?" Buttercup asked, one hand on her hip.

"I think I'm going to have to spend a lot more time at my office," Blossom thought aloud. "But that would mean you guys will have to pick up the slack: if you don't mind, you guys might have to work an extra day or two until this all blows over."

"WHAT?" Butch and Buttercup cried simultaneously.

"We can't do that!" Buttercup snarled. "We _just_ got our band together. We need to practice and write songs and stuff."

"I don't mind," Boomer said, raising his hand. He glanced at Bubbles. "We haven't been working that much lately anyway."

"Thank you," Blossom said pointedly at him.

"Yeah, well, we do!" Butch argued. He and Buttercup were now floating next to each other across from Bubbles and Boomer, Blossom hovering between them, the Professor watching silently over his shoulder from the couch.

"I'm sorry," Blossom apologized, giving them her most sincere look.

"Yeah, you better be," Buttercup grumbled. "Since we have to help clean up _your_ mess."

"_YOU KNOW WHAT?"_

Blossom streaked over to them, her pink unusually tinged with a red hue. Butch and Buttercup, surprised more than anything, jumped backwards.

"I've had it up to _HERE_ with the both of you!" Blossom shouted, raising her hand for emphasis. "I'm _sorry_ my problems impede on your _rock star lives!_ I'm _sorry_ I need you guys to work maybe just one extra day for me! And I'm _so sorry_that you guys have to wait a little longer to start your stupid band! I can't _help_ that I have other things to worry about other than the silly aspirations of my sister and brother-in-law. _I'M SO – SORRY –_that I'm screwing up _your_ lives as much as I've screwed up my own! _I'M SORRY! OKAY? I'M. SORRY."_

Blossom hovered over them, her cheeks flushed red and her eyes bright pink. Butch and Buttercup stared up at her, backs against the wall. On the other side of the room, Bubbles, Boomer, and the Professor gawked at them, mixed expressions of fear on their faces. After a moment, Blossom drifted back to the floor, her bottom lip quivering. She gazed at Butch and Buttercup, and then, an intense wave of regret swallowed her whole.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Blossom whispered. She turned to the others. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, honey," the Professor said, standing up and stepping over to her. He pulled her into a tight embrace. They stood there quietly, Blossom shaking in his arms. A few moments later, her shaking slowed to a slight tremble. The Professor pulled her away, keeping his hands on her shoulders. She looked up at him, eyes bloodshot, cheeks drenched. He smiled at her. Then he cupped her face into his hands and pressed his lips to her forehead, his thumbs wiping the tears off her face. He pulled her away again. Finally, a small smile broke on Blossom's face.

"There we go," the Professor chuckled.

"Um, Blossom?" Buttercup said, her voice wary. Blossom and the Professor turned to her. Buttercup elbowed Butch. "We can, um, we can work whenever you want us to."

"Thank you," Blossom whispered, nodding at them.

"Are you going to be okay, Blossom?" Boomer asked nearby.

"Of course," the Professor answered for her. Blossom chuckled.

"So, is everybody okay now?" Bubbles asked cheerfully. Blossom nodded, Butch and Buttercup mumbling their agreements.

"Uh, good!" Bubbles glanced at Butch, giving him a knowing look. Instinctively, Bubbles starting wringing her hands. "Then, I, um, have something to say."

"Okay, Bubbles," the Professor waved his hand at her. "What's on your mind?"

"I... um..." Bubbles glanced at Butch again. He shrugged his shoulders. Buttercup watched the exchange, and then narrowed her eyes at the both of them. Bubbles sighed.

"What's going on, Bubbles?" Boomer asked, too quickly for Bubbles' comfort.

"I..."

They all stared at her, the concern growing with every second.

"I... I... I can't really work that much for you, Blossom."

"...Okay," Blossom responded, her eyes widening. "Any particular reason why?"

Suddenly, Butch chuckled. "Tell 'em, Bubbles."

"Tell them what?" Buttercup hissed.

"Yeah, tell us what?" Boomer asked, his voice filled with panic.

"I can't really fight right now because... because I'm gonna have a baby."


	8. Chapter 7 :: Bad Reputation

**Chapter 7 – Bad Reputation**

Silence. A long, tense, impending silence. Bubbles stared at her family, waiting for some inkling of a response. She looked at the Professor, then Butch, then Blossom, then finally Boomer. But, of course, it was Buttercup to finally break the silence.

"NO. WAY. HOLY CRAP, THAT IS _AWESOME_!"

With that, Buttercup, Butch, Blossom, and the Professor gathered around her to congratulate her. Buttercup went on a vocal rampage, mentioning all the stuff Bubbles was going to go through, how much pain she was going to be in, how awful the indigestion would be, and "Dude, I'm going to be an aunt! AWESOME." Butch rolled his eyes at her, then winked at Bubbles. Blossom, relieved for some comparatively excellent news, grinned and embraced her sister. The Professor looked at her, misty-eyed, before pulling her into a tight hug. Bubbles was smiling so much her cheeks began to ache, but she didn't mind.

"You know, I didn't get this nice a congrats when I was gonna have Bridie," Buttercup commented, poking Bubbles in the arm.

"You don't congratulate people on their accidents," Butch retorted with a smirk. Buttercup snickered, but slapped Butch on the arm anyway.

Bubbles finally turned to Boomer, who had been rather quiet since the announcement. He gaped at her. Suddenly Bubbles had the thought that she probably should've told him beforehand, but she was just too excited. Before she could say anything else, Butch swaggered over to Boomer and put his arm around his brother's shoulders.

"Guess you had it in you all along, huh?" he laughed.

"I swear, you Boys have super sperm," Buttercup chuckled.

"I really don't think that's the case," Blossom said quickly, while the Professor closed his eyes and waited for the paternal discomfort to pass.

"Thanks, guys," Bubbles said to her family. She glanced at Boomer, who was still in shock, from the looks of it. "But all this excitement is making me really tired. I think we're gonna head home."

"Get used to it," Buttercup said. "You're gonna be exhausted _allll_ the time. I mean, you have a _parasite_ growing in you, you know."

"…Thank you, Buttercup," Bubbles replied as her eye twitched. She turned to Boomer and led him to the front door. After a quick good-bye and a few more congratulations, Bubbles and Boomer headed back home.

Within seconds, they reached their apartment. Boomer fumbled with the keys on his way in, eventually giving up and simply forcing the door open. Bubbles watched him, twirling a loose thread on her shirt. Once inside, Boomer tossed the broken doorknob aside, chain-locked the door shut, kicked off his shoes, and hovered straight to the bedroom. Bubbles followed him. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring intently at the wall. Bubbles waited for him to say something, anything. After a beat, she sighed and nestled into the spot next to him.

"You okay?" Bubbles asked. Boomer sniffled. He didn't look at her, instead turning to the ceiling.

"When did you find out?" he asked.

"A little while ago," Bubbles replied. "I think I took the test, like, fifteen times. Butch was ready to kill me…"

"Why would Butch kill you?" Boomer asked, a chuckle sneaking into his voice.

"He went with me to the pharmacy," Bubbles admitted. "Buttercup was on duty and he was the only one with any experience with this whole thing."

"Butch went with you," Boomer repeated, almost deadpan. "That is so weird."

"He waited outside the bathroom for hours," Bubbles giggled.

Boomer finally turned to her, though his eyes were still focused on something just past her. Bubbles smiled hopefully.

"My brother's a pretty good guy," Boomer mused, smirking. "Don't know how that happened, but he's okay."

"Yeah," Bubbles agreed, though she wasn't quite sure where this was going.

"He's a good dad, too," Boomer added, his smile widening. "I don't know how, but he's actually kind of awesome. And Buttercup. Bridie's growing up great."

"Yeah…" Bubbles bit her lip, still not clear as to whatever he was alluding to. Finally, Boomer looked at her. He grinned.

"Man, if they can do it, we should be okay, huh?" Boomer laughed. Bubbles sighed with relief.

"Is that what you're worried about?" Bubbles asked, almost astounded.

"I'm gonna be a dad!" Boomer cried out. "Of course I'm worried!"

Bubbles leapt on him, kissing his cheek over and over again.

"You—" _Kiss._ "—have nothing—" _Kiss._ "—to be afraid of." _Kiss._ Bubbles pulled away, just enough for the two of them to remain in a close embrace. "_We_ have nothing to be afraid of. We are going to be amazing parents." Boomer gazed at her, his eyelids drooping. He glanced down at her stomach. He sighed.

"This is gonna be crazy."

* * *

><p>Bubbles awoke to something that felt like a thousand needles stabbing her insides. She gasped, clutching her middle. She stumbled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. She fumbled for the light switch as she knelt over the toilet, acid searing in her throat. After a gut-wrenching groan, the cold, neon light flickered on. She coughed, saliva dripping like syrup from her trembling lips. Her body shook, a fever burning through her skin. Bubbles suddenly heaved, a familiar metallic taste filling her mouth. She spat into the toilet, and then peered into the water. She choked.<p>

Blood.

Bubbles fell backwards, scrambling away from the toilet. She choked out a painful sob and curled into herself, clawing at the pain in her stomach. Blood dribbled down her lips, pooling around her face on the bathroom tile. She didn't care, the only thoughts running through her mind focused on willing the pain to stop. _Stop_. She sobbed again, her breathing merely shuddering gasps.

Then, a solid mass slithered into her throat. Bubbles rolled onto all fours, her nails digging into the floor, tiles crushing to dust, as she tried to retched, her stomach lurching to push the mass out. In one more agonizing heave, a long, mushy, snake-like mass plummeted out of her mouth. Bubbles gagged as it hung from her throat, writhing between her lips. She tried to glimpse at the object, her vision too blurred with tears. She retched again, forcing more of the thing out. With a disgusting plop on the tile, Bubbles forced her eyes open again – and upon sight, immediately regretted it.

Wriggling in a puddle of blood and bile, thick as rope, was a tapeworm. Bubbles' shriek was cut short as the worm contracted and seized in her esophagus. She wanted to cry, scream, close her eyes and wish the sight away. Instead, she clutched the worm, the springy scales scratching her skin, and pulled.

Hand after hand, between whimpers and gags, Bubbles pulled the tapeworm from her throat. It tangled itself, curling into a bloody, squirming pile. Blood coated her mouth, her face, staining her nightgown and pooling on the floor. Eyes clenched shut, Bubbles ripped the worm out, praying that it would end soon.

After an eternity, the worm became thinner and thinner until it was like a noodle. But of course, Bubbles felt an even greater mass pulling from the pit of her stomach, up through her insides, and approaching her mouth. It filled her throat, another lurch causing her to vomit a mouthful of blood. Then, she tugged, the mass closing up her throat. With an ear-splitting click, her jaw unhinged. Sinking her nails into her palms, she clenched her fists around the worm and pulled.

The mass popped out of her mouth like a cork, and Bubbles collapsed to the ground. She wept and tried to gasp for air at the same time, her body still shaking too hard for to even consider getting up. She rolled over, her hair drenched in her bodily fluids. She opened her eyes, her gaze settling right away on that final mass.

Bubbles wailed. She hugged herself tight, unable to tear her eyes away from the bloodied form in front of her. She wailed again. It was so small, so pink, so innocent curled up in a tangle of worm. She whimpered a weak, defeated cry. A small person, a fetus, a lifeless being on floor.

Bubbles eyelids fluttered, her body suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. Her eyes burned from the hot, salty tears. Still sobbing quietly, Bubbles rolled over and closed her eyes. She shivered, the cold tiles shocking her skin. Her pain-clouded brain finally cleared enough to allow her thoughts to come together. _I can't handle this._ She sniffled. _Please, please stop._

_Please_…

A small hand rested on her forehead. Like a quick breeze, Bubbles felt her body warm, her hair dry, the pain disappear. She opened her eyes to see the little boy, his big gray-blue eyes stare down at her past the fringe of dirty blonde hair. He moved a strand of her own hair out of her eyes. Bubbles immediately sat up and embraced the boy, holding him tight to her chest. He nestled into her chest as Bubbles pressed her lips to her head. The boy pulled away far enough to look up at her.

"Wake up."

"I'm with you now," Bubbles replied, holding his face in her hand.

"He can't get you when you're awake," the boy said, glancing behind him.

"What about you?" Bubbles asked, glancing to the side as well.

"I'll be okay if you're okay," the boy said. He looked up at her, the expression on his face too knowing not to trust. Bubbles sighed. She brought him back close and kissed him on the head one more time.

"Sleep well, sweetie."

Bubbles closed her eyes for just a moment, and then opened them. She blinked a few more times, allowing herself to get used to the darkness. After a few minutes, she glanced at Boomer, swaddled in blankets next to her. A thought drifted through her mind, as strong as a recent memory. _He can't get you when you're awake. _Bubbles ran her fingers across Boomer's arm, and then, grabbing a blanket and pillow, floated out of the bedroom into the living room. Quiet as a cat, she made herself a whole pot of coffee, rather than her usual tea, turned on some cartoons, and nestled into the loveseat. After a few Looney Tunes, she glanced at the clock: 5:42 AM. Bubbles whimpered.

It was going to be a _long_ night.

* * *

><p>One month.<p>

Blossom stared at the calendar in disbelief. It had only been one month – a mere thirty days – since she had last seen him. She huffed. There was no logical reason as to why she should, of all the things to think about right now, be thinking of _him_. What she should really think about was how much of that month she had spent double-time in the campaign office to clean up after the scandal. Meetings, speeches, community service, fundraisers, you name it, she did it. It was all she could do to repair her reputation back to something redeemable. Because of _him, _Blossom grumbled. Or she could be thinking about how calm Townsville has been lately: there hadn't been so much as a mugging since last month. Actually, the last time she fought was the same day she… Blossom closed her eyes, stopping the train of thought in its tracks. _Enough_.

Blossom glanced out the window. The sun was particularly bright, blasting its last rays onto the city before hiding behind the horizon for the night. Blossom momentarily counted how many hours she had been in today – nearly twelve – and decided to pack up. As she collected her things to go home, she went through the notes in her head, occasionally jotting down anything important on a steno pad. She finished up some minor organizing, grabbed her suitcase, and headed out.

She hovered outside, pausing for a moment to enjoy the warm spring air. She looked around – it seemed people had finally stopped staring at her, passing her by without so much as a glance. _Thank God._ Then, she remembered the old days, back when everyone would always stop and say hello to her. Blossom sighed, waving to an older lady trotting past her. The lady didn't even blink.

"How things change," Blossom said to herself.

Just then, a cop car whizzed past her on the street, cherry-berry lights swirling, siren blaring. Blossom smiled. _Or not. _She followed without another thought, beating the police by a second at its destination: the bank. They were quickly joined by three other cars, the cops leaping out, guns in hand. Blossom dropped her suitcase near the first car and approached the sheriff.

"Robbery?" she asked.

"Yeah, but it's a weird one," the sheriff growled. He spat on the ground away from Blossom. "Three of 'em. They asked for the money, the girl gave it to 'em, and then they personally called the police."

"They called the police _on themselves_?" Blossom clarified, her eyebrows rising. The sheriff shrugged his shoulders.

"Looks like it."

"Okay then," Blossom nodded her head, and then stepped forward. She stood her full height, took a deep breath, and yelled. "Alright, I'm gonna ask you to come outside! Drop your weapons, put your hands behind your head, and come out of the building!"

Blossom was so used to this command never working she had to stop herself mid-breath from repeating it as the three robbers stepped out the front door, no weapons, hands behind their heads. The cops leaned forward, ready for any quick moves. Alas, the robbers only stared quietly at Blossom.

It took Blossom a moment to recognize the lead robber's face. It had been a few years, and she only saw him once, briefly. That night had ended rather quickly, considering she had been drugged within an hour of the party. Nonetheless, it wasn't the dark, curly hair or the thick eyebrows that gave him away, but his words.

"_Bella ragazza…_"

Before Blossom could respond, the sheriff ordered the others to cuff them. The robbers didn't give any problems, allowing the cops to handcuff them and lead them to the back of one of the cars. Finally getting a hold of herself, Blossom darted to the car where they were ducking the lead robber.

"Can I talk to this one?" Blossom asked, her tone more commanding than inquisitive. Luckily, the cops didn't question her, and let her grab the guy and drag him back to the building. Out of earshot, Blossom whirled around and glared at the man.

"Agostino."

"_Ciao, bella,_" Agostino grinned. He gave her a once-over. "How are you – Adelina, _vero_? Or they call you Blossom around here."

"The latter," Blossom nodded, folding her arms across her chest. "And I think the real question is, _what_ are you doing in Townsville?"

"Ehhhh," Agostino looked back at the cops. "I'm, eh, checking out the system."

"What does that mean?" Blossom demanded, narrowing her eyes.

"Just looking at how… _things_ work around here," Agostino replied vaguely. "Get a feel for the environment. You know what I mean?"

"No, no I don't," Blossom snapped. "Care to explain?"

"I have a message for you," Agostino said abruptly. Blossom's eyebrow rose, causing Agostino's impeccable smile to widen. "_Watch your back._"

"…And what is that supposed to mean?" Blossom asked, her voice cracking.

"_Amore,_ Fratellino."

Blossom inhaled sharply, and the cops came back and walked Agostino back to their car. Agostino continued to smile at her until the car started and followed the rest of the cars back to station.  
>Blossom remained frozen on the sidewalk for a good five minutes. When she finally came to, she drifted back to her suitcase and floated straight home. There <em>he<em> was again, back at the forefront of her brain. But this time, she let him be.

* * *

><p>Butch, Buttercup, Ace, and Mitch sat around the kitchen table. The table looked like it had been hit by a tornado, strewn over with empty cans of Mountain Dew, cigarette butts, pizza, candy bar wrappers, and several dozen crumbled balls of paper. Ace rubbed the sleep from his eyes behind his sunglasses, a cigarette burning in his other hand, as Mitch drummed with his fingers on the table. Butch lit up his millionth cigarette. Buttercup sighed as she folded her arms and glared at the piece of paper before her.<p>

"Seriously? We can't come up with anything?" she grumbled.

"We suck, obviously," Butch reasoned.

"_Well_," Ace said, singing the word for emphasis. "Maybe we should suck a little less."

"Fuck you," Buttercup snapped, tossing the pen on the table so hard it shattered into a puddle of ink. She rolled her eyes, but let it be.

Just then, the front door open, and Blossom dragged herself inside. She dropped her briefcase on the floor and immediately headed into the kitchen to get herself some tea. She hovered to the kitchen, contemplating whether chamomile or Earl Grey would be more calming. She caught sight of the table – and stopped.

"_What _is going on _here_?" Blossom sighed, too tired to really sound angry.

"Hey, leader girl!" Buttercup yelled at her. Blossom stopped and closed her eyes. She heaved a great sigh before answering.

"Yes?"

"How are you? How's work?" Buttercup asked, leaning back in her chair and tossing a paper ball into the air.

"Fine," Blossom replied, ripping open the cabinet door so hard she pulled it off. She wrinkled her nose and placed the door gingerly on the counter.

"Ain't that girl-talk for 'shit-tastic'?" Butch asked, blowing out a puff of smoke. Blossom rolled her eyes.

"You shouldn't be smoking in the house," Blossom commented before turning away and putting a pot of coffee on.

"The Professor isn't home and Bridie is upstairs," Buttercup retorted, tossing the ball at the ceiling as if to punctuate her point. Blossom blinked.

"Should we leave?" Mitch asked, sliding back in his chair. He looked directly at Blossom.

"No!" Buttercup yelled, throwing a paper ball at him. "We do not leave this table until we figure out a name for the band!"

"Is _that_ what you've been doing this whole time?" Blossom asked incredulously, staring at the mountain of crumbled up paper on the table. Ace, Mitch, and Butch nodded their heads.

"We've thought of everything," Buttercup huffed. "Everything. Nothing sounds good at all."

"I still think 'Frankie Foster Goes to College' is a good one," Ace said dismissively, crushing his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray.

"Who the hell is Frankie Foster?" Butch demanded, slumping in his seat.

"It don't matter, it's a name," Ace said with a shrug.

"You'll think of something, I'm sure," Blossom said, ruffling Buttercup's hair for good measure. She turned around and started rummaging through the cabinets again for a mug. Buttercup snorted.

"Yeah, I doubt that."  
>"Well, it's not the end of the world," Blossom chuckled, finally finding a decent mug and filling it with coffee. She grabbed the sugar and creamer. "What is it, one in seven bands never make it off the ground?"<p>

"That's restaurants," Mitch chirped.

"Oh, _hell_ no," Buttercup snapped. "We've been practicing too much to quit now."

"We already have a decent set list," Mitch added, nodding to Blossom, who promptly rolled her eyes. "And, uh, we perform at the high school in a week."

"Really?" Blossom asked. "This is the first I've heard about it."

"Well, you're kinda busy all the time," Butch said with a shrug. "And, well, we haven't exactly been promoting it, since we don't have a name."

"Hm," Blossom grunted. As she recalled, they had been practicing regularly over the past few weeks, though mostly in Ace's shack at the dump. She figured – and hoped – they'd spent most of their time battling creative differences and idly jamming or something. Guess not. "Well, maybe you _should_ get on that, then."

"See?" Buttercup exclaimed. "Besides, I'd rather guzzle up a stew of whoopass before letting this band die."

"Wait, what?" Mitch laughed, sitting up in his seat. Ace leaned forward and Butch looked up. Buttercup's eyebrows rose.

"What?"

"Say that again," Mitch commanded. Buttercup clicked her tongue.

"I don't know, I don't remember what I just said," she grumbled. "Something about whoopass stew."

"…I like it," Mitch grinned.

"Not half bad," Ace agreed, nodding his head.

"Fucking awesome," Butch chipped in.

"What is?" Buttercup demanded.

"The name," Mitch said. "The band's name. 'Whoopass Stew.'"

"Seriously?" Buttercup remarked, though a small smile broke on her face. She pondered it a moment. "Yeah, it does kinda have a good sound."

"Oh, that doesn't sound very… appropriate," Blossom commented, momentarily stopping her coffee ritual.

"Then it's perfect," Butch concluded. The others' laughter signified enough agreement, and Butch started a round of triumphant high-fives. Blossom groaned, then added an extra tablespoon of sugar into her mug.

"Are we decided then?" Butch asked, standing up and looking down at his fellow band mates. "'Whoopass Stew' is the official name of this band."

"Oh, hell yeah!" Mitch cheered. Ace gave the thumbs-up.

"This is gonna be too good," Buttercup snickered.

"Awesome!" Butch slammed his cigarette into the ashtray, catapulting several old butts into the air and onto the table. "Let's break."

Mitch and Ace waved their good-byes as Butch and Buttercup cleaned up (mostly for the sake of Blossom, who kept glaring tight-lipped at the mess.) Once clean, Blossom took her usual seat and settled into her drink. A little while later Butch crashed in front of the television while Buttercup happily grabbed a cookbook out of the drawers and searched for a good recipe for dinner.

"Mmm, now that I'm in a good mood, I'm feeling steak," she said. She glanced through the doorway at Butch. "That means you gotta grill!"

"I ain't grillin' shit!" Butch yelled back.

A voice popped up near the staircase. "Is Daddy making steak?"

"See, now you have to," Buttercup said, closing the cookbook with a snap. Butch groaned.

"Dammit."

There was a knock at the door. Butch groaned again, then, muttering under his breath, crawled out of his seat and hovered to the door. He answered it.

"Wide load, coming through!" he announced as Boomer and noticeably larger Bubbles floated inside. Bubbles made a face at Butch.

"Just in time for dinner!" Buttercup shouted before zipping to the doorway. "Butch is grilling steak."

"Am not," Butch growled.

"Oh, yeah," Boomer rubbed his stomach. "Butch steak. Perfect."

Blossom joined Buttercup at the doorway, nursing her coffee. "Hey, Bubbles. Boomer. What's the occasion?"

"Dinner, obviously," Boomer said, dropping into the nearest armchair. Butch rolled his eyes and then hovered to the closet to get his shoes.

"I don't know," Bubbles said, nestling onto the edge of the couch. Her arms fell to her belly, a tender lump under her sundress. "It's kinda boring being at home all the time."

"Take advantage of it, hon," Blossom said. "I would give anything for a good night's sleep."

"Yeah, so would she," Boomer added, folding his arms across his chest and nodding at Bubbles. "She never sleeps."

"You're not sleeping?" Blossom asked, her head tilting to the side.

"I do so sleep," Bubbles declared, giving Boomer a dirty look. She turned to Blossom. "I'm just never comfortable, ya know?"

"Oh, I remember that," Buttercup sighed. "It don't change, neither, girl. I haven't slept in _years_."

"How many steaks am I getting?" Butch asked.

"I don't know, ten?" Buttercup shrugged.

"Damn, that's pricey," Butch remarked. He bopped Boomer on the head. "C'mon, bitch, we're going shopping."

"Ow!" Boomer cried, both hands shooting to hold the top of his head. "I don't wanna go anywhere."

"Too bad, let's go," Butch grabbed one of his brother's arms and hoisted him out of the chair and out the door. The girls stared after them, bemused, before a dark green and blue streak passed the window. Blossom and Buttercup floated into the living room while Bubbles gingerly floated up and around onto the couch. Blossom took a seat next to her while Buttercup stole Boomer's old spot.

"How's the bun?" Buttercup asked. Blossom sniffed, but turned to Bubbles and gave her an inquisitive look.

"Baby's fine," Bubbles replied, glancing down at the bump. "It's been a little over a month, and definitely feeling it now."

Buttercup sat back, her eyelids drooping and a big smile growing on her face.

"Ah, memories," she said, mock-reminiscent. "Constant pee breaks. Eating everything ever. Being bitchy all the time. More than usual."

"If that's possible," Blossom teased. Buttercup stuck her tongue out at her.

"Bad dreams?" Bubbles asked quietly, lacing her fingers over her belly.

"Bad dreams?" Buttercup repeated, turning to her. She glanced away thoughtfully. "Not that I recall."

"Are you having nightmares?" Blossom asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Uhh, sometimes," Bubbles replied. She stared down at dress, her fingers picking at the fabric.

"What are they about?" Blossom questioned further. She placed her mug on the coffee table. Bubbles shrugged.

"I don't really… remember…" Bubbles sat up. She turned to Blossom. "But it's nothing to worry about, you know. They're probably normal."

"Mmm," Blossom looked away. "I think I remember reading about it before. Probably just hormone changes and whatnot."

"Probably," Buttercup agreed, reassuring. "Unless, like, Him is involved or something."

Bubbles inhaled sharply. Blossom and Buttercup both leaned closer to her.

"Him isn't involved, is he?" Buttercup asked.

"Well," Bubbles started wringing her dress. "No, not really. I think he shows up once in a while, but it's all just my memories and stuff."

"Are you sure?" Buttercup sat up, her voice hard. "Because if he is—"

"No, I'm positive," Bubbles said. She stared ahead through the window, her reflection on the glass looking back at her with a distorted expression of unmasked fear. Blossom clicked her tongue.

"You don't look positive," Blossom stated.

"They're just not very nice," Bubbles said, tearing her gaze away from herself and back to her sisters. "I promise, they're nothing more than bad dreams."

Blossom and Buttercup glared at her. Bubbles had the thought at just how terrifying – and similar – her sisters looked when staring someone down. Most people would crack, and Bubbles should've. But she didn't. She looked back at them.

"I promise."

"Fine," Blossom said stiffly, grabbing her mug and taking a sip.

"Shit-tastic," Buttercup added.

Bubbles sighed. She really wasn't sure why she just lied to her sisters. She really shouldn't keep her dreams a secret anymore. Her new sleeping habits weren't secret; perhaps the reason for them should be told, too. But she didn't. She couldn't. And she didn't know why. She yawned. Honestly, she was too tired to think about it much right now. She watched Blossom take another sip.

"Could I have a cup?" Bubbles asked.

"Coffee?" Blossom asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes," Bubbles replied. She yawned. "I need it."

* * *

><p>Brick blew out a puff of smoke, his teeth still gnawing the end of his cigar. He had to contain himself as he stared at the bright green Porsche, resisting the urge to blow something much hotter in the car's direction. Or maybe at the perfectly manicured lawn, or, better yet, the whole damn house. But no, that's not why he was here. This was business. Brick dropped his cigar into the grass, secretly hoping it would catch fire, and headed to the front door. He knocked. Behind the door he heard some quick, soft footsteps, then a pause. <em>Yeah, you better be paranoid, you stone-cold bitch.<em> The door swung open. Nancy peeked over her glasses at Brick and leaned against the door.

"Brick Fratellino," she cooed, flashing him a toothy smile. "What can I do for you?"

"Not too much, thankfully," Brick replied, flashing her his own smile. It almost hurt.

"Would you like to come in?" Nancy said, stepping out of the way and gesturing him in.

"Uh, no," Brick declined, holding up his hand and shaking his head. "We're gonna make this short and sweet."

Nancy's smile faltered for a second. Then she recomposed herself and nodded at him graciously.

"What do you want?" Nancy asked.

"So those pictures of yours…" Brick started. Immediately, Nancy laughed.

"I hope you're not here to teach me a lesson or something," she said coolly. "Because let me tell you now: one, I didn't take them; two, that's just journalism, darling; and three, I have a hidden camera picking up your every move and your every word. So any threat you make will be used against you in a court of law."

Brick's lip curled. Then, he forced a laugh.

"That's cute," he said. "And for the sake of brevity, I'm gonna let that slide."

"Okay," Nancy giggled. "Just so you know."

"So," Brick started again. "Those pictures of yours."

"Yes."

"They were nice," Brick said.

"Thank you," Nancy smiled again. "Even though I didn't take them."

"That's okay, because I'm not here to discuss your lack of photography skills so much as your political influence," Brick stared at her. Nancy's cool composure fell to something Brick figured was questioning. He continued. "Some _people that I know_ have noticed your exceptional influence on the people of Townsville. Your work in utterly destroying Ms. Utonium's reputation was, quite frankly, remarkable."

"I hear it's not the only thing I destroyed," Nancy quipped. Brick resisted another fiery urge.

"That. Said," Brick spat, "they have a… _suggestion_ for you."

"Oh?"

"They think you should run for mayor."

Nancy stared at Brick, her expression beyond shock. After a moment, she put a hand on her chest and stifled a laugh.

"Me? Run for mayor?"

Brick's eyebrows flickered. This time, Nancy actually laughed.

"You've got to be joking," Nancy chuckled. "I'm flattered, really, but tell your 'people,' _nicely_, that they're full of it."

With that, Nancy turned away and tried to shut the door, only for it to be stopped by Brick's foot. He pushed the door back open, tripping Nancy to the side.

"Since you're fully aware of just the 'people' I know, I would hope you wouldn't be so insulting," Brick seethed. "And anyways, allow me to be frank with you: it wasn't a suggestion."

"Really," Nancy snorted, clutching the doorknob.

"Really."

"And why exactly am I supposed to obey this 'suggestion?'" Nancy asked.

"Because my people have more political influence than your shitty articles ever will," Brick snapped, allowing his rage to surface just a bit. "The only reason we need _you_ is because your work is a lot cleaner than ours, no matter how dirty it is."

"And if I refuse?" Nancy put a hand on her waist, still clutching the door.

"Try," Brick dared. Nancy pursed her lips, then slammed the door shut – right through Brick's outstretched fist. Nancy gasped, staring at the hand poking undamaged through the gaping hole in her door. Horrified, she watched the hand reach in, grab the knob, and open the door. Brick kicked it open and peered down at her. He grinned. After Nancy finally caught her breath, she threw Brick a nasty look and huffed.

"Fine."

"Good," Brick said cheerfully. "Then I'll be on my way."

Brick whirled around and floated away, leaving Nancy to glare at the fresh hole in her door. Her breath quickened, her normally well-kept anxiety surfacing with a vengeance. Then, with a nerve-wracking flash, a blazing whooshing outside made her jump. She turned to see her Porsche – her beautiful, _beautiful_ Porsche – up in flames.

"You son of a bitch!" Nancy screamed, ducking behind the wall as the gas tank exploded. "I said I'd do it!"

A few feet away, Brick stepped over and lit a new cigar with car's flames. He took a long drag on the cigar, exhaled the smoke, and snorted.

"That one was for fucking up the last thing I gave a shit about."


End file.
